


i am not the only traveller, who has not repaid his debt

by cowboytime (thegoatz)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Murder, Bisexual Dutch van der Linde, Bisexual Hosea Matthews, Blood, Bounty Hunters, Canonical Character Death, Character Development, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Death, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drunkenness, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fire, First Dates, First Meetings, First Time Off Screen Murder, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gift Giving, Hand Jobs, Hosea Matthews Lives, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It goes, M/M, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Murder, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Hosea, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Protective Hosea Matthews, Rejection, Robbery, Robbery gone wrong, Running Away Together, Self-Doubt, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Strangers to Friends, Strangulation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, Very brief though... litchrally liek a couple of lines or so, Vomiting, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews, and then some other things that youll see in later chapters, as you can tell from the title. all these chapters are based off of lord huron lyrics, at the start that is, basically. a lot of shit that happens could have been prevented if they had just ! communicated, do i need to put any more emphasis on the A N G S T, hosea saves dutch, hosea takes care of dutch, i guess, i guess?, idk i just. really love the idea that bessie is like an older sister to dutch. and takes No Shit, it starts when theyre young and ends when theyre older, kinda??, litch rally everyone thinks hosea is gay for dutch, me writing every chapter: hmm how obviously gay can i make hosea for dutch, me: flips it around so that hosea is 6'0 and dutch is 5'9.. ah yes Perfect, me: sees that dutch is 6'0 and hosea is 5'9.. no this cannot be, micah does not exist in this story, no-one is hurt but it still went wrong, platonic sleeping together, sorry about the het stuff. it doesnt last long. i promise, sprinkling of dutch with adhd because i am. once agian. self projecting, the ages are a bit different, there will be more angst later :( sorry, there's a uhh. lot of blood, this fic is just. how many clichés can i put in it, vaugely - Freeform, whats the tag for. they're on a date but they dont realise that its a date
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoatz/pseuds/cowboytime
Summary: When Dutch and Hosea first meet, they're inseparable. But as they grow older, things change, people change, they change, and they find out that life really isn't that easy, and that maybe, just maybe, they might not be destined for a happy ending after all.
Relationships: (endgame) Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, Annabelle/Dutch van der Linde (past), Bessie Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, Bessie Matthews & Hosea Matthews, Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, listen the relationships are hard to explain here. it will all make sense in the fic
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. brown eyes and crooked smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> i have been planning this for WEEKS. basically it starts out when they're kids, and there Will be dutch/hosea but thats later in the story

They meet when they're kids.

Young and dumb and troublesome.

They meet because Hosea hears shouting, although it sounds more like screaming. He was a curious child and even more curious now, and goes to investigate, pushing his way through the small crowds of people who don't care about anyone else but themselves, and who are trying their best to ignore the shouts that just don't seem to end. He hides behind a wall as he nears, and the shouting gets so loud Hosea feels sorry for whoever it was aimed at. He peeks his head up over the wall to see a man, filled with so much anger and _hatred_ that Hosea doubts he's human at all, and is instead just some demon in a man's body.

Spit flies out of his mouth, his face red with anger, as he shouts and shouts and _shouts_ at this boy. This _young_ boy, around the same age as Hosea. He doesn't look intimidated in the slightest, doesn't look ashamed or scared or even amused he just looks... _bored_ , his eyes darting around everywhere except for at the man in front of him, something akin to a schoolboy being scolded by a teacher.

That obviously doesn't go down well with the man, who only seems even more enraged by the boy's nonchalance. The boy's eyes eventually meet Hosea's. The boy raises his eyebrows, and Hosea almost ducks back down, not wanting to get caught up in the argument, and well Hosea supposes it's not really an argument because the boy hasn't said a single word yet and the man just won't shut up, but for some reason, he doesn't. For some reason, he stands still and keeps eye contact with the boy. He has brown eyes, and he looks almost intrigued about Hosea's presence, ignoring the, way more, _obvious_ problem at hand.

The man moves forward, and it seems like the boy was too curious about Hosea to see it coming. The man grabs the boy's wrist, and from the scowl that forms its way on the boy's face, Hosea can only assume he grabbed it _painfully_ hard. 

Hosea doesn't quite know why he did what he did next, doesn't have a reason, or an excuse, other than just pure impulsiveness.

He runs out from behind the wall, bending down and grabbing the largest stone on the ground that he could as he does so, and yells at the man to let the boy go as he throws the stone as hard as he could. The man was by no means small, he was tall and well built, almost the pure opposite of Hosea, and he doubts it did anything to hurt him, but the man was startled enough to let the boy go, and turn his attention to Hosea. Those terrifying eyes, which bulge out of his skull as he seethes, turning to look at him as if he were the scum on the bottom of his shoe, and perhaps for the man, he was.

As soon as the hand was gone from his arm and the man's attention was turned away from him, the boy ran, looking back and motioning with his hand for Hosea to follow him, and so he did, not wanting to deal with the man's anger, which had now, no doubt, doubled since Hosea's interruption.

The man screams, and he shouts, and he yells, as he runs after them, but he is a middle-aged man, although Hosea thinks he's creeping into the later stages of life, and there was no way he would manage to keep up with the both of them, both young and energetic and agile. They run as fast as they could, ignoring the burning in their lungs, pushing past people and stumbling over things on the ground as the sound of yelling grows quieter and quieter, and at some point, Hosea swears he could hear the other boy laughing as if running for your life is _fun_. He must be crazy, Hosea thinks, but he knows he isn't much better.

They eventually stop once they reach a tree behind the church, a big, looming tree, which overlooks the cemetery behind it. The church was barely used anymore, run down with so many holes and cracks, barely supported by the rotting wood, that he doubts they'll ever bother repairing it, and the grass around the graves had long since become wild and untamed. He doubts anyone would come around there any time soon.

Hosea leans against the trunk of the tree as he catches his breath, the other boy looking behind them to make sure that the man was truly gone, and hadn't somehow managed to catch up to them.  
  
"Your arm okay?" Hosea asks, once he's catching his breath, hands on knees, doubled over, lungs still burning like they're on fire.

"Huh?" the boy asks, before looking down at his arm which has reddened considerably, "oh _that_. It'll be fine. Ain't nothing too bad."

Hosea nods as he straightens up, swallowing as his heart rate starts to slow.

"Thanks by the way," the boy tells him, still panting ever so slightly, a crooked smile on his face, "would rather he beat me to a pulp than have to listen to him yell for another ten minutes."

Hosea laughs, as he waves his hand dismissively, "it's nothing. What was he yelling at you for anyways?"

The boy smiles fondly, a toothy grin on his face, "he thought I stole something from him."

"Did you?"

"Well, yeah," the boy says, and Hosea laughs, loud. He likes this kid, he's funny, "I'm Dutch by the way. Dutch Van Der Linde."

Hosea smiles, as he looks at him. He's younger than Hosea, shorter too, with black hair that he looks like he's trying to grow out, and a mischievous glint in his eye and a cocky smile on his face, almost a complete opposite to Hosea, who is tall with bright blonde hair, and a soft look about him. Hosea could get brash and loud and arrogant when he wanted to be, but he preferred to be quiet and humble, keeping to himself and keeping out of trouble, and just something about Dutch tells Hosea that being quiet is not something that he's good at. And yet, Hosea doesn't think that's quite a bad thing, despite the trouble that it must land the other boy in.

"Hosea Matthews," he tells him, as he scans Dutch over, looking for something that he doesn't know he's searching for.

Dutch's smile only gets wider, and the mischievous gleam in his eye grows brighter, "well, Hosea, I best be going home now. Don't want my parents thinking I got into trouble again."

Hosea chuckles nodding his head as Dutch turns to leave, "make sure you actually stay out of trouble on the way back."

Dutch laughs loud, his head thrown back as he does so. Dutch turns to look at him, "I will try my best, friend," before turning around and starting to walk away. Nothing about the boy shows that he had almost just been beaten by a man twice his size and probably triple his age.

"I hope I see you around soon," Dutch calls out as he walks away, not turning back around.

Hosea watches him as he leaves, staring intently at his back as until he eventually disappears around a corner. He puts his hands on his hips and lets out a sigh as he shakes his head, a smile still on his face. He has a feeling that their paths will cross again, and he must admit, he's quite looking forward to it.


	2. mischievous looks and small smiles

They meet again a few days later.

Hosea is in town, biding his time, looking for easy pickings, people to rob who won't miss the money as much as others. He doesn't much like robbing people as destitute as himself: it makes him feel rotten, so instead he goes for the loud and brash and rich people. He's gotten better over the years at robbing, failed attempt after failed attempt has made him cautious, taking big amounts occasionally from the richer people who walked past rather than robbing everyone he saw and getting next to nothing, aside from beatings.

And no matter how sincerely his parents act like they aren't growing poorer and poorer with every passing day, Hosea knows that his family need this, and whilst he didn't have the best relationship with his parents, he didn't love nor hate them, he didn't want to sit around as they starved to death. They turn a blind eye to what Hosea does, and he guesses that he's grateful for it. He doesn't know if they're proud of him for what he does, but they need to survive, and to survive sometimes you need to do bad things. That had been something that he had learnt from a young age.

He's got a decent take this time. Found a large wallet that he took from some rich drunkard who probably won't realise he's missing his money until a few days time, and well, Hosea believes that if you're foolish enough to get drunk whilst carrying around a wallet with that much cash in, then maybe you deserve to get robbed, and besides if he hadn't stolen it then _someone_ would have.

He's standing in an alleyway, after spending most of the evening taking what he could, just about check how much money he had managed to lift. He slips a hand into his pocket, trying to find the wallet he stole but is met with nothing but the fabric of his pants. He frowns and looks down. No matter how hard he searches he couldn't find it and lets out an angry sigh. Either he lost it, or it was taken.

A voice from behind him makes him jump, " _decent_ amount you got there."

Well, at least _that_ answers that question.

Hosea spins around, mentally preparing himself to fight if he needed to, and whilst he's not the most physically imposing kid, is more lean and scrawny than muscled, when he needed to he could pack one hell of a punch. But instead of a fight, he's met with those same brown eyes and crooked smile that he saw a few days ago. Hosea lets his shoulders drop out of relief and lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"Dutch," Hosea says with a smile.

"Hosea," Dutch says with a grin of his own. He holds out the wallet to Hosea, who takes it and shoves it back in his pocket.

Dutch leans against the alleyway wall, his legs and arms crossed as he looks out into the street, "you're pretty quiet, I'll give you that. But there's one thing that gives you away."

"Oh yeah," Hosea replies, crossing his arms as he stands next to Dutch, "what's _that_?"

"Your eyes," Dutch says with a laugh as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Hosea scoffs jokingly, " _my eyes_?"

"Yeah," Dutch says with a vigorous shake of his head, "your eyes are always searching for the right people to rob. If anybody was trying hard enough they could spot what you were doing a mile away."

"Huh," Hosea said thoughtfully, "I'll keep that in mind."

Dutch smiles and turns his head to look at Hosea, "you busy?"

Now that it's mentioned, Hosea supposes that he should get back home; wouldn't want his parents worrying about him, but then again Dutch interested him, he seemed fun, and well... Hosea didn't have many friends. Everyone around here are all so cruel, and that's coming from a _thief_. Maybe having a friend would be good.

So he shakes his head, "no I'm not busy. Why?"

Dutch shrugs his shoulders playfully, "no reason. Just gets a bit lonely 'round here sometimes is all. There's only so many people you can piss off before you start having to watch your back."

Hosea looks at him incredulously, "you get in that much trouble already? What are you, _ten_?"

Dutch frowns at first, but when he sees the joking glint in Hosea's eyes, he huffs out a small laugh, "a comedian, huh? I'm _fifteen_ actually."

Now that he's said it, Hosea could see it clearly. Dutch was young, only a year younger than he was, but he there was something in those eyes that possessed a maturity in him, a maturity that a boy his age shouldn't be having, but it had this fine mix with an almost crazed glimmer. Hosea guessed that he had a wild side to him, a side that Hosea doesn't know whether or not he wants to see.

The more Hosea found out about him, the more he wanted to be his friend, and it seemed like Dutch felt the same way.

"Where'd you wanna go?"

Dutch shrugs and pushes up off of the wall, before turning towards Hosea and looking up at him, "how about the tree we went to when we first met? Doubt anyone'll be there."

Hosea nods and motions for Dutch to lead the way, which he does with a grin. Dutch leads them through all the twisting alleyways that Hosea didn't even know existed before they end up by the run-down church once more, faster than they thought he would.

"I've been running through these alleyways ever since I could walk," Dutch says as a clarification to Hosea's surprised look as they make their way over to the tree, and somehow, Hosea doesn't doubt Dutch's exaggeration.

Dutch let out a sigh as he sits down by the trunk of the tree, putting one leg over the other, whilst Hosea stands there, somewhat awkwardly. Whilst Hosea thought he had could be charismatic when he wanted to be, and well he mostly wanted to be when he would con people out of money and he doubts he'll be doing that with Dutch, but when it comes to talking normally in a conversation... Hosea doesn't think he's too good at that.

"Well?" Dutch says with that grin on his face as Hosea still doesn't move from his spot. Dutch gestures around to the rest of the tree and Hosea takes the hint.

He sits down opposite Dutch, crossing his legs and placing his elbows on his knees, "how come I ain't seen you 'round here before?"

Dutch shrugs and starts picking some of the overgrown grass that he's sat near, "must've been luck, I suppose. I mean, I spend more time outside of my house than in it."

"Where do you go?"

Dutch laughs, "where don't I go? If I'm not robbing then I'm exploring, I suppose, gives me something to do rather than be at home."

"Why don't you like being at home?"

Something flickers in Dutch's eyes and for a second Hosea thinks that he said something wrong, but it's gone as soon as it came because Dutch shrugs his shoulders and says, "me and my mother don't really get along. At least not since-" Hosea doesn't miss how Dutch clenches his jaw, swallowing thickly as his fist is clenched so tightly that Hosea thinks he might break his fingers, "-since my Daddy died."

Hosea looks down, forlorn, "I'm sorry."

Dutch let out a laugh, but the sound gets caught in his throat, "don't be, that's the way it is, I guess," he clears his throat and flashes Hosea a grin that he can tell is forced, "now it's my turn to ask the questions."

Hosea gives Dutch a small smile, Dutch's want to change the subject is almost palpable and Hosea doesn't want to lose this friend as soon as he's gained them, so he indulges, "sure."

Dutch's grin gets wider, genuine now, and that playful glint in his eye is back, "you wanna go robbing?"


	3. speeding bullets and loud laughs

Hosea gives him a look, surprise mixed with excitement, " _now_?"

"Why not?" Dutch says, and Hosea finds himself mirroring the grin on Dutch's face.

It's getting late, the sun is setting, and he really should be going back home now, but Dutch's excitement is infectious and fun things like this doesn't usually happen with Hosea, so instead, he says with a smile, "what do you have in mind?"

Dutch let out a laugh and leans forward, his hands splaying around wildly as he explains, "I found this place, not far from here, with a father and son, _two idiots as dumb as bricks_ , always leave their doors unlocked. We can sneak in, and sneak right out, as easy as stealing from a _corpse_. Won't take long."

Hosea finds himself nodding along, "okay, sure. Let's do it."

Dutch let out a laugh and jumped up to his feet, holding out a hand to Hosea when he was a little slower to follow. Hosea accepts it with a smile. 

Dutch says with a flick of his head, "it's this way c'mon follow me."

Hosea does and as they walk he asks, tilting his head as he does so, "you reckon they're asleep?"

Dutch chuckles quietly, "oh almost _definitely_. Even if they weren't we'd probably still be able to rob them without them realising."

Hosea laughs along with Dutch until the both of them eventually fall into a comfortable silence. Hosea takes in the scenery as the two of them walk, to the trees that are scattered around, to the animals that scamper around in the distance. The town gets so quiet during the night, almost a stark contrast to how it is during the day, loud and bustling and full of people with half a brain. It's almost completely dark now, his parents' worry is at the back of his mind now, and all he can think about is how he managed to agree to come along and rob people with a boy he had encountered once previously. He can't help but feel like if this was anyone else but Dutch, Hosea probably would have turned them down. But Dutch was someone who he had never encountered before. He was new and different and not like all those other boring sad-sacks that Hosea had come to know.

Robbing houses was never his forte, the chance of them waking up with a gun in hand, where the exits are limited had always put him off. He always preferred to rob out in the open, and yes he was more likely to get spotted doing that but at the same time, in the open, he could always run. But having Dutch by his side put him at ease, probably more than it should, and well, when Dutch seemed as confident as he did then Hosea couldn't help but feel the same way.

"It's just up here," Dutch says eventually, pointing to a house that's a little way away from them. It's a big house and looks promising, and all the lights are off, which is a good sign. They both crouch down as they near, Dutch whispering at Hosea to follow him as they near the house. Snoring grows louder the closer they get to the house, and Dutch gives him a cocky grin, "told you they'd be asleep."

Dutch motions for Hosea to stop as he slowly pushes the door open. The door creaks as he does so and Hosea winces, hoping that it wouldn't wake them up, but Dutch doesn't seem as fazed, poking his head into the house and checking that everything was okay; that they hadn't had guests around or for some reason were still awake. After a couple of seconds, Dutch turns his head back around, and mouths "we're good," at him, before going inside.

Hosea follows, still crouching down, and side-eyes the sleeping person just a few feet from him. Hosea assumes he's the son.

"I'll check upstairs, you check downstairs," Dutch whispers, keeping a close eye on the sleeping man to make sure he doesn't wake up. Hosea nods and watches Dutch as he leaves, the door closing behind him as he does so. He opens the chest that's at the foot of the man's bed, grimacing slightly when it creaks loudly as he does so. Once he's sure that the man is still asleep, Hosea looks in the chest. It's not too bad. A coin purse with some change in it, some jewellery, and some tonics which he could sell. He looks around the room, in the cabinets nearby and finds a decent amount of things. So far so good.

Hosea leaves the room and moves onto the next, and Hosea could faintly hear the wood creaking underneath Dutch's feet above him, and silently prayed that he was being quiet enough to not wake the man upstairs, who no doubt had a gun nearby. The rest of the room is easy to loot, and Hosea can't deny, there's a decent amount of things here. He does feel that he's being greedy, after already lifting a decent amount on the streets before, but who would say no to a little extra money?

Hosea hears someone come down the stairs, the noise making him jump, and he relaxes when he sees that it's Dutch, who has that same crooked smile on his face. Hosea moves over to him and whispers, "anything good up there?"

Dutch nods his head, "a lot of buckles and jewellery that we can sell. You find anything good?"

"A few necklaces and coin purses."

Dutch smiles, "didn't I tell you? It's like robbing a corpse."

Hosea laughs quietly as he nods his head as he turns to leave, "let's get out of here before the corpses wake up."

"Did you get the chimney money?"

Hosea turns back around, his brows furrowed in confusion, "the what?"

Dutch gives him a devilish smirk as he moves over to the chimney. He sticks his hand up it, saying, "when you rob houses, always-" he pulls something abruptly down, a small amount of soot flying down with it, "-check the chimney."

Dutch holds it up to him, a grin on his face, and shows a stack of cash, probably about a hundred dollars worth. 

Hosea is about to respond before he hears a loud shout upstairs.

"Who the _hell_ has been in my house?"

Hosea and Dutch give each other a look before Dutch is telling him to run.

Hosea does, and bolts out the door, Dutch following close behind him. They both sprint as fast as they can, hearing more yelling behind them, no doubt from the father and son waking up and realising they've been robbed blind by two kids. Hosea hears a loud bang from behind him, and it takes him a second to register what it is before he's yelling, "they're shooting at us!"

Dutch is running by his side, and out of the corner of his eyes, Hosea sees Dutch turn around and look behind them, checking to see if they've run after them. The two of them run through the trees, as fast as they can, as far as they can before they're both collapsing down by a river. Panting and out of breath and both so elated.

Dutch laughs as he lays down, his chest rising and falling rapidly and Hosea can't help but join him as he sits crosslegged down next to him, slightly more delicately than Dutch did.

"I thought-" Hosea pauses to catch his breath some more, "-I thought you said that'd be easy."

Dutch laughed some more, "it _was_ easy... up until he woke up."

"Who's fault was that?" Hosea says, his voice joking.

"In my defence, I thought we'd be long gone before he woke up. Turns out he wasn't as dumb as I thought he was."

They both fall quiet after that, the only sound is their pants, that is until Hosea asks, "do you know where we are?"

Dutch lifts his head up from the ground and looks around, his mouth falling open as he thinks. He lets his head fall back, colliding with the ground with a soft thump.

"I think so."

"You _think_?"

Dutch rolls his eyes, but his smile is back on his face, " _fine_. I _know_ so."

"You better," Hosea says, making his way to his feet and holding out a hand to help Dutch up, "don't exactly want to get eaten by animals out here."

Dutch huffs out a chuckle as he accepts Hosea's hand. He motions with this hand, "this way. Looks like we've got a decent walk ahead of us."

"Just as long as you don't get us shot at again, I think I'll be fine."

Dutch laughs again, and lightly shoves Hosea as they walk, "a real comedian," Dutch adds sarcastically

As the twigs crunch and snap beneath their feet, Hosea thinks that Dutch might just be the one real friend he's ever had. But the thought doesn't make him sad like he thought it would, because as he hears Dutch's voice ramble about nothing in particular, making jokes that never fail to make Hosea laugh, Hosea realises that Dutch might just be the only friend that he needs.


	4. half-finished books and full hearts

Dutch sighs dreamily, "Hosea, you should have _seen_ her."

Hosea hums as a sign of acknowledgement, not turning his attention away from the book he was reading, his back pressed against the tree by the run-down church that had somehow over the years become the place where they met up. Dutch is lying in the grass, hands behind his head as he looks up at the sky.

"She was so _beautiful_ , dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, and I swear she was the prettiest woman I've ever seen in my life."

Hosea still hasn't looked up from his book, too entranced in it to hear what Dutch was saying.

"Hosea, are you even listening to me?"

"Huh?" Hosea said, finally putting his book down in his lap and looking at the man lying on the grass. 

Dutch has changed over the years, hell they both have. Dutch always liked to joke around that one day he'd be taller than Hosea, and Hosea was very pleasantly surprised when that didn't work out, and here they both were, early-twenties, and Hosea still towered over him. Dutch always pretended like he was annoyed about it, especially since Hosea occasionally like to bring it up, but both men knew he wasn't. Neither were surprised when Hosea stayed lanky and thin, he was a scrawny kid and a scrawny man, but Dutch knew not to get on Hosea's bad side, because whilst he didn't look it, Hosea was strong. Dutch was almost the opposite of Hosea body wise: where Hosea was tall and thin, Dutch was shorter and well-built, with broad shoulders and an imposing frame. Most people thought Hosea was the brains of the group, but Dutch was smart and quick-witted and had a silver tongue that could talk a dog off a meat wagon. And whilst his tongue was sharp, he was also hot-headed as he grew up, needing Hosea to cool him down, and help him think clearly, because whilst Dutch was smart when he was angry, all intelligence he has gets thrown out the window, whilst Hosea rarely ever got angry. They were almost two opposites, but they worked well together; were practically inseparable.

"I said were you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, you were talking about that man you robbed."

"That was _ages_ ago," Dutch groaned, taking his hands from behind his head and placing them over his face, "I was talking about Annabelle."

"Oh," Hosea says, his voice monotone, " _her_."

"Yes, _her_ , Hosea. As I was telling you she's the m-"

"Most beautiful woman you've ever seen, yes, Dutch _I know_ , you've said it before."

"Well, I mean it, Hosea!" Dutch says, his arms waving around wildly as he speaks, "you ain't seen no-one as pretty as her."

Hosea rolls his eyes, Dutch has practically been talking about her nonstop ever since he's seen her, which was weeks ago, and Hosea swears that he'll lose his mind, but he's a good friend, so he lets Dutch indulge himself, "tell me more about her."

Dutch's eyes widen, "where do I start? God, it feels like she's laid a curse on me, she's all I can think about. I still remember when we first kissed, I swear I felt like I was the happiest man alive, and I want to ask her if she wants to get some drinks with me at the saloon but..."

"But what?"

Dutch covers his face with his hands, and Hosea swears between his fingers, he swears he can see red on Dutch's cheeks, "Dutch Van Der Linde, are you blushing?"

Dutch swears at him as Hosea just laughs, hard. So hard, he gets tears in his eyes. Never in all their years of knowing each other did Hosea think he would see Dutch blush. Hosea had never seen her, but boy she must have been something.

"I'm nervous I suppose, I suppose that's it."

"Dutch you've never been nervous, that's been my job all these years."

Dutch chuckles, "I know."

"Why don't you just ask her? I mean, she kissed you, after all, she obviously likes you."

Dutch looks horrified at the thought of asking her but he eventually nods.

"If she agrees to come with me, can you join us?"

"Me?" Hosea asks incredulously, "I appreciate the sentiment, Dutch, but it would be quite awkward if I was there whilst you two were doing whatever it is that you do."

Dutch gives Hosea a look that he hates, no he _detests_ because he knows that he could never turn it down.

"Please, Hosea, y- you can bring Bessie along."

"Me and Bessie are just friends, you know that."

"Annabelle doesn't," Dutch says, sitting up and turning so he's facing Hosea, his hands are clasped together like he was praying, "please, Hosea, I'm _begging_ you."

Hosea's eyes widen at that. Dutch never begs anyone. At first, he thinks Dutch is joking, but the honest and sincere look in his eyes dispels that thought. Even if he wanted to, Hosea doubts that he'll turn Dutch down when he gets like this.

He sighs, "fine, I'll bring Bessie along."

Dutch let out a visible sigh of relief, thanking him as he goes to stand up, stretching as he does so. When Hosea stays sat down, Dutch offers him a hand up.

"Where are we going?" Hosea asks as he accepts Dutch's hand helping him up.

Dutch gives him a smile that one might mistake for confident, but Hosea knows Dutch better than anyone, and he knows that he's nervous.

"I'm going to ask Annabelle."

" _Now_?" Hosea asks, frowning. If he had known that he wouldn't get to finish his book, he would have been less likely to agree.

Dutch gives him a look that answers his question.

"Why do you need me to come? I am not asking her for you."

Dutch shakes his head, "not that, I just need you to... I don't know, help me prepare myself."

"Prepare yourself?"

"Y'know, tell me what to say, now come on, she'll still be at work now."

Hosea sighs and shakes his head, but can't help the smile that forms on his face as he walks beside Dutch, "you speak like I'm a hit with the ladies, Dutch. You know I ain't been too good at this stuff."

"Two heads are better than one, Hosea."

Hosea laughs, "you're treating this like she's some shop we're trying to rob. She's one woman, Dutch, how hard could it be."

Dutch side-eyes him, his voice sarcastic as he says, "oh _really_? Do you want to take my place and ask her out for me?"

Hosea chuckles, "oh no, you are not roping me into this, Van Der Linde, you want to ask her out, you do it _yourself_."

Dutch frowns and grumbles, "was gonna do that anyway, Hosea, just need you to help me figure out what I should say."

"Oh, I don't know, how about you just ask, hey Annabelle do you wanna come to the saloon with me later tonight, Hosea and Bessie'll be there too," Hosea says sarcastically.

Dutch eyes widen, "Hosea, you smart man, that's _perfect_!"

Hosea's brows furrow in confusion, had Dutch really overthought what he was going to say that much? Or maybe Hosea was just better talking to women then he thought he was. Either way, Hosea stays silent and Dutch goes over what he's going to say. They eventually reach the general store where Annabelle worked, Dutch telling Hosea to wait outside whilst he asked Annabelle.

He's gone for about five minutes before he's walking out the store, looking perhaps more excited than Hosea has ever seen.

"I take that it went well?"

Dutch nods his head, the smile on his face so infectious that Hosea can't help but mirror it, "she said yes."

Hosea fights the urge to say, _of course, she said yes, you fool, she kissed you first!_ And instead just smiles at him, partly because he's happy for him, and partly because sometimes the other man could be so dumb it was actually pretty funny.

"She said tonight, so you- you go and get Bessie, and meet us at the saloon in a few hours, and I'll go and get myself ready."

"Tonight?" Hosea asks incredulously.

"Yes, tonight, Hosea!"

Hosea sighs, but can't help his smile, "okay, Dutch, we'll meet you there, now go and get yourself cleaned up."

Dutch nods his head and thanks him before he's turning around.

"That is if Bessie agrees to come with me, " Hosea mumbles under his breath, but Dutch is already gone. He just hopes, for Dutch's sake, that everything goes well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the chapter after next everything goes fucking batshit all over the place and i am very sorry for when it happens.


	5. confused faces and cheek kisses

Hosea only just manages to convince Bessie to join him, which took a lot of pleading on Hosea's part, and he swears Dutch owes him one because she really wasn't too pleased to join him on such short notice. The stern look on her face as he asked was almost enough to send him away with his hypothetical tail between his legs. But Hosea had persisted because he is nothing if not a good friend to Dutch, so he stands his ground and eventually persuades her to join him. 

"I could be enjoying a nice quiet evening in," Bessie said as they made their way over to the saloon where Dutch told them to meet, although Hosea can tell that she's not as angry about it as she's trying to make him believe she is, she too knew how head over heels in love with Annabelle Dutch was and wanted to help in any way she could to get them together, "but _no_ , I have to be out here, helping Dutch on his date. That man is a lovesick fool if I've ever seen one."

Hosea just laughs, "you should've seen him earlier, he was a blushing mess. Ain't never seen him get like that before."

Bessie let out a quiet laugh, finally loosening up, and Hosea let his own small smile make its way to his face. He hadn't been willing to say it out loud, but he had really hoped that Bessie would have joined him, because he didn't really do well with awkward situations like this, and Bessie had always been a people's person, which was partly why she and Dutch got along so well. And besides, he didn't want to be standing there all alone and uncomfortable whilst his best friend got all cosy with a girl.

They both crack jokes as they make their way to the saloon and whilst he told Dutch that he and Bessie were just friends, Hosea had to admit that he quite liked Bessie. They both found it hilarious when they realised that they had the same surname despite not being related, and had clicked instantly from there. She was a pretty woman, smart and funny, everything Hosea wanted in a partner. But for some reason or another, they had never dated, and Hosea didn't think that was a bad thing. He was perfectly fine with them being friends, and although Dutch often teased Hosea about being in love with her, somehow he didn't quite feel that he was but played along with the joke because it made Dutch laugh.

They reach the saloon soon enough, and Dutch is already waiting out front, looking as nervous as ever, so much so that Hosea can't help his grin. Neither of them had enough money to buy suits so Hosea assumes Dutch wore the most expensive piece of clothing he had, his hair smoothed back as neatly as he could make it, which is different from its usual state of unruliness that it was normally in. When Dutch finally sees them, his face breaks out into a happy smile, although Hosea could see the nervousness breaking through it.

"Bessie, you made it," Dutch says once they reach him, Hosea patting him comfortingly on the arm.

Bessie grins, her eyes crinkling as they do so. Bessie was so beautiful, she could have any person she wanted, to this day Hosea still didn't know why the hell she hung out with him and Dutch, some two-bit thieves, with dreams too big for them and hope that might one day kill them.

"Of course I came," she said, with a delicate smile, "someone needs to keep you boys in check."

As Dutch laughs, they both hear the apprehension in his voice. Hosea thinks Dutch must really love Annabelle a lot to get like this, a smile forming on his face as he looks Dutch over. Hosea notices that his collar is upturned and doesn't even think before he's smoothing it down and making sure that he looks as smart as can be, his hands lingering for maybe too long on his shoulders afterwards. Dutch thanks him, and Bessie gives him a look which he can't quite understand. He's about to ask her about it, but he hears a voice from behind them.

When he turns around he sees the woman who he presumes is Annabelle, and well, Dutch wasn't lying when he said she was beautiful. Hosea knows that Dutch had already told Annabelle about the two of them, but they had never met face to face before, and instantly Dutch is going over to her and greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. Hosea just stands there awkwardly before Bessie is nudging him with her arm, which he assumes is her urging him to greet her. Thank god she was here. They say their hellos as Dutch introduces them to each other before they head into the saloon. It's somewhat busy, and Hosea desperately hopes that Dutch won't find himself in _another_ barfight. Hosea had spent _too_ many hours already patching Dutch up after his big mouth gets him stuck in the middle of a brawl. But Hosea is confident that at least today he'll be on his best behaviour. And besides, Dutch and Annabelle have already headed straight to the bar, talking and giggling to each other as they do so, leaving Hosea and Bessie behind.

"Why are we here again?" Bessie asks him once they go to a somewhat secluded table and chairs at the back.

"To make sure Dutch didn't chicken his way out of it I suppose," Hosea says, turning his attention away from them when he sees them share a kiss that made even _him_ blush slightly, "but it seems like he didn't need us as much as we thought."

Bessie laughs at that, "I'll get us some drinks, don't want to come here for no reason at all."

Hosea nods his head and tells her to get him something strong. He can't help but feel like it's going to be a long night.

  
They have a few drinks in them, Hosea thinks he's only slightly drunk, although he never could handle his alcohol that well. He and Bessie are laughing and joking, perhaps louder than they should have but they're too intoxicated to notice the stares that they get. Dutch and Annabelle have disappeared somewhere, and Hosea doesn't even want to _think_ about what they're doing.

Bessie is laughing from a joke Hosea told about how head over heels in love with Annabelle he was, her head thrown back and shoulders shaking as she does so, the personification of beauty. As both their laughs eventually die down, Bessie downs her whiskey in one and says, "I always wondered why we never dated, but I know you and Dutch... well _y'know_."

Hosea chokes on his drink.

"Can I just say, you are handling this better than I thought you would."

Hosea is in the midst of wiping away the alcohol he spilt over himself before he says, "handling what?"

" _You know_ ," Bessie says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Hosea shakes his head, "no I don't think I do."

"You liking Dutch."

Hosea's brows furrow, " _of course_ I like Dutch, he's my best friend."

Bessie rolls her eyes, "more than a best friend."

Hosea mouths Bessie's words as he tries to comprehend what she's saying before his eyes widen.

He shakes his head vigorously, that along with the alcohol is a bad mix because it makes his head start to ache, "I do _not_ like him like that, Bessie. We're just friends."

"You're telling me that you're not in love with Dutch," Bessie deadpans, her arms crossing over her chest.

"No, I'm not," Hosea says, maybe a bit too loud, because he feels eyes peering at him from other people in the bar.

"I'm not," he repeats, quieter this time, "I don't know what put that idea in your head, but me and Dutch, we are just friends."

"So all of those minutes you spend staring at him, all those times that you don't shut up about him, all the things you do for him is just you being friends with him?"

Hosea nods his head, so much so that it just makes his head hurt even more, " _yes_! What else would it be?"

"I mean you had me fooled, your parents too."

Hosea's eyes widen even more and he lets his head fall into his hands, "they think that I- _oh god_. They _hate_ Dutch."

Bessie just laughs and takes another swig of her beer, " _I know_."

His head is really starting to ache, and he thinks he might have had too much alcohol, that along with what Bessie just said, his head feels like it's going to explode. Just exactly _how many_ people thought that Hosea liked Dutch more than a friend? He hopes not too many people.

"I think I'm gonna head back now," Hosea says, stumbling ever so slightly as he gets up from where he was sat,"think I drank too much."

Bessie just laughs again and pats his hand comfortingly, "I'll see you later."

Hosea mumbles a goodbye and leaves the saloon. Dutch'll be fine, right? Hell, Hosea doesn't even want to think about him right now, just wants to wrap his head around what the fuck just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything goes crazy next chapter :)


	6. bloodied hands and broken hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was based on [ emerald star by lord huron](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=jhbwiUsZ8QY&feature=share)

Hosea goes straight to bed when he gets back home, his mother and father thankfully already asleep. He just wants to sleep off the alcohol so he could think about what Bessie told him with a clear head.

The sun is just about to rise, that beautiful mixture of orange and yellow and black spilling into his room when he's woken up by a noise out back. He had always been a light sleeper, ever since he was a kid, and whilst noises like this happened often, due to animals who felt brave enough to get close to their house, something about this felt odd. He tries to go back to sleep, but he swears he hears a voice, and god, he must be more drunk than he originally thought. Probably against his better judgement, he gets out of bed and heads downstairs to check.

It was probably just a fox or something.

Hosea swears that there must still be some alcohol in his system because he swears he can see a person and blinks rapidly to get his eyes to adjust. Hosea is about to run inside and grab his father's gun, assuming it's a robber but is stopped when he hears the person call out to him.

They say his name, and the voice sounds familiar but at the same time it doesn't. It wavers. Sounds broken, distraught, and Hosea takes another step towards the person. 

"Dutch?" Hosea whispers out when his eyes finally adjust.

The voice calls out his name once more, somehow stronger and weaker at the same time, and Hosea finally sees.

Dutch is standing there, wearing the same clothes he was wearing before except now they're all almost _completely_ red.

It takes Hosea too long to realise it's red with blood.

There's a fire in his eyes, and blood on his hands as Dutch's legs start to buckle and Hosea rushes out to catch him before he falls. As soon as he touches Dutch everything hits him full force, and the stench of blood is so overwhelming that he thinks he's going to be sick. Hosea is instantly mumbling an endless cacophony of reassurances, he just doesn't know whether it's for himself or for Dutch.

Dutch is shaking against him, his hands clutching the front of Hosea's shirt like he's his lifeline, his head buried into the crook of Hosea's neck, pressed so tightly that he could feel Dutch's panicked breaths fanning against his skin. Hosea asks him if he's okay. Over and over again he asks until he's begging to know if Dutch is injured or not. It's entirely too long before Dutch is telling him that he's not hurt. Hosea brings a hand up and places it on the back of Dutch's head, tries to ignore how it's stained red when he pulls it away.

"What happened? Where have you been?"

Dutch just shakes his head and clings even tighter to Hosea.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me right now, alright?" Hosea says as softly as he could, "let's get you cleaned up."

Dutch makes a noise of agreement but doesn't say anything, letting himself be led up to Hosea's room. Bloodied hand in bloodied hand. Hosea's arm pressed so tightly around Dutch's waist, keeping him close, that one might think he's scared that Dutch might get torn away from him. Dutch knows he shouldn't be there, knows that if Hosea's parents see him like this they'll probably kill him, at this point doesn't know if that's a bad thing or not. Hosea tells him to sit on his bed whilst he gets water to clean all the blood off him, and Dutch obeys, putting his head in his hands as Hosea leaves. He hasn't stopped shaking since it happened. Didn't know what to do. Just knew to go to Hosea.

Hosea is back after _too_ long, and Dutch swears he's about to go insane.

He crouches down in front of him, the bucket of water by his feet, peeling Dutch's hands away from his face and looking up at him. He can't bear to keep eye contact and looks away, swallowing thickly as he does so.

"Are you okay?" Hosea asks again, and Dutch fights the urge to scoff because _does he look okay?_

"I'm not injured," he replies, his voice as strong as he could make it because that's the only thing he can say that isn't a lie.

Hosea looks like he has something more to say, but stays silent and Dutch doesn't know whether he should be grateful or not. He's still silent as he begins to wipe away the blood mixed with mud that Dutch is covered in, using an old rag that will no doubt be discarded after he's finished. He starts with Dutch's hands, taking Dutch's in his own. His grip is gentle, yet firm, calloused hand in calloused hand as he wipes away the blood and dirt. Moves up to his forearms, with his rolled-up sleeves, the dried blood clinging to his skin, like how sin clings to the devil. Dutch can't even bear to look at the water, steadily becoming redder and redder with every minute that passes.

Hosea stands up, and for a split second Dutch thinks Hosea is going to leave, his hand surges out to grab Hosea's sleeve with a now cleaned hand. Instead, Hosea brings the rag up to Dutch's face, standing in between Dutch's legs, and starts to wipe away the blood that's dried on his face. Dutch's hands coming up to grab the front of Hosea's shirt once more. Hosea still doesn't speak as he wipes away the blood, being as gentle as he could just in case Dutch had any injuries that he hadn't told him about. Dutch stays quiet as the rag makes its way from his hair, to his forehead, to his cheeks, to his lips, to his neck, Hosea cleaning away everything that he could. Hosea moves Dutch's head with his hand, and Dutch lets him, instead staring straight ahead of him, trying to come to terms with everything that happened. It gets to a point where Dutch is almost begging Hosea to say something, almost as if the silence is threatening to rip him apart.

It takes a while, but eventually, all the blood is cleaned off him. The bloodied rag falling into the bloodied water with a splash. Hosea's hands make their way down to the one's clutching his shirt. Hosea gently tugs Dutch's hands off his shirt and instead holds them in his own hands.

"Annabelle's dead," Dutch says without even meaning to, his voice wavering as he does so.

Hosea pauses and his grip on Dutch's hand tightens, considerably so, not enough to hurt, and for some reason that saddens him. He wants to hurt, to feel physical pain, not this endless numbness that he's become embedded in.

"What happened?"

 _Silence_.

"What have you done?" Dutch doesn't know if Hosea had meant it to sound as accusing as it did, but his eyes snap back to Hosea's, and there's something undistinguishable in them. Dutch's mouth falls open as he searches them, but still can't tell what he's thinking.

"I didn't," he starts, cutting himself off when his voice gets dangerously close to breaking, "I didn't _fucking_ kill her, Hosea."

Something softens in Hosea's eyes after that and he looks away before continuing what he was doing before, "I _know_ you didn't, Dutch."

"We- we were out the back of the saloon. We were kissing, and- and then suddenly she was pulled off me. I didn't even have a chance to react before she had a knife at her throat."

Dutch pauses and looks to Hosea for comfort. Dutch bites his lip so hard that Hosea wouldn't be surprised if it bled. Hosea doesn't know what to say, so instead, he places his hand on the back of Dutch's neck and brings him close. Dutch buries his face in Hosea's shirt, wrapping his arms around Hosea's torso as his body begins to shake. Hosea could count on one hand the number of times he's seen Dutch cry, and even when he did, it had never been like this. Hosea tries to comfort him and is so painfully aware that his quiet reassurances are barely helping in the slightest, but he needs to do something.

They stay like that for some time, whether it was minutes or hours, Hosea doesn't really know.

Eventually, Dutch tilts his head to the side so he could speak, still resting his forehead against Hosea's stomach, "we were robbed. I- I gave them all I had, Hosea, and I thought- I thought they were gonna let her go. God, she was so _scared_ , Hosea. She was crying, and I kept telling her that it would all be okay, and- and those fuckers-"

Dutch is leaning back and looking right at him now, watery eyes on sad eyes, and Hosea forces himself to not look away, not even as Dutch says, "they slit her throat right in front of me."

"I'm sorry," Hosea says, because other than that he doesn't know how to comfort him, which in itself is abnormal because comforting Dutch comes as easy as breathing for him.

"Don't be," Dutch says, his voice hard, and his face twisted up in a scowl, "I killed them."

Hosea's mouth falls open slightly as he tries to come to terms with what Dutch said. Whilst, yes, while they robbed people and they threatened people and they beat people, they had _never_ killed.

But then again these weren't just any people. These were people who killed someone that Dutch loved. If the positions had been reversed and it was Hosea who had just seen Dutch or Bessie die, well, then he can't say that he wouldn't have done the same thing. But this town is small and the people are too nosy for their own good, what had happened would be found out soon enough. And then what? If they knew it was Dutch, then surely he'd be killed. Hosea doesn't know how he'll bear it if he is.

"Hosea?" Dutch says, his voice, barely audible, just a whisper, scared almost, "what are you thinking?"

Hosea places a hand, that he hopes is comforting, on Dutch's shoulder, "I'm thinking that we need to change out of our clothes. They're covered in blood."

Dutch looks down at his clothes, swallows thickly, and then looks back up at Hosea like he can't bear to look at himself.

"All my clothes are at home."

"Use mine."

Dutch lets out a laugh, although both men ignore how hollow it sounded, "I appreciate it, Hosea, but I don't know if they'll fit."

"Anything is better than-" Hosea gestures at Dutch with his hands, "-that. Look, I'll get you some clothes to put on while I get rid of this water. We can- we can talk about this later."

Dutch nods and Hosea fishes out some clothes for himself and some that he thinks will fit Dutch, although that isn't saying much. While Hosea was taller than Dutch, Dutch's frame was bigger, and his shoulders were broader, the shirt would fit, but it would be tight in some places and long in the others. If the situation had been different, Hosea would have laughed. But with the stench of blood, whilst slightly less imposing than it was, still there, all Hosea feels is this sense of dread. Nothing good could come out of what happened.

He changes into his new clothes and then goes outside to get rid of everything. Whilst he's discarding the water, pouring it outside, and throwing the rag in the fire, he just thinks. Usually, Hosea was good at thinking, at coming up with plans. But he just can't work out a way to get them out of this mess. He just can't think of a plan, only about that poor girl. She deserved better.

When Hosea goes back upstairs to his room, perhaps the first genuine smile makes its way to his face. There Dutch is, dressed in Hosea's clothes, pulling at Hosea's shirt to try and loosen it around his shoulders. It looks awkward, but it'll do. Hosea helps him as much as he could, positioning it and moving it around so it looks somewhat normal on Dutch's bigger frame. Dutch thanks him with a small smile, and now that all the blood is gone, Hosea can see how tired he truly looks.

He glances at the window to see that it's practically sunrise and that Dutch could at least get a few hours sleep. He sees Dutch's old clothes discarded on the floor. There's no point in trying to salvage them. 

He pats Dutch's arm, "try and get some sleep. I'll get rid of your clothes."

Dutch frowns ever so slightly, and Hosea can tell that he has something to say. Hosea waits, but the moment passes and instead Dutch nods his head.

As soon as he picks up the clothes in his hands, the stench of blood is once again almost overwhelming. He leaves the room as quickly as possible and heads downstairs to the fire once more. But for some reason, before he throws it in he pauses.

He looks down at Dutch's clothes. Covered in blood. He sees that very same collar that he smoothed down hours before. Sees it now torn and red. He hadn't realised how close he was to losing Dutch. He feels rotten for even thinking it, but if it came to saving Dutch or Annabelle, Hosea wouldn't even have to hesitate.

He throws the clothes in the fire before he can continue down that train of thought.

But it's too late, now that the idea had been planted in his head, it's starting to sprout. Dutch could have died in Annabelle's place, and the fool probably would have given himself for her. Dutch wouldn't have even realised that Hosea's whole world would have been destroyed if he did. He would have died behind a saloon, and god, how would Hosea find out? Would they even bother telling him? He doesn't want to imagine Dutch lying in a grave, being left to rot whilst Hosea went along with his life, not knowing where his best friend had gone.

His feet are moving him outside without him even knowing. The fresh air helps, but it doesn't stop him as he convulses, throwing up outside at even the mental image of Dutch in the mud with his throat slit, blood spurting out, and he supposes the alcohol that's in his system doesn't help. He's once again thankful for both his parents being heavy sleepers because he doesn't know if he could come up with an excuse to worm his way out of this.

He takes a minute to breathe. To remember that Dutch is still alive, that he's upstairs and isn't dead. He feels so cruel, so evil, so _rotten_ to be relieved that Annabelle is dead and that Dutch isn't if he hadn't already thrown up everything that he had ate previously, he might have vomited some more. He wipes his mouth and drinks some water to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

He feels so tired. Just wants to fall asleep and forget his troubles, to dream of laughter and old friends and lovers. To dream of when they were kids and innocent, to dream forever because there's no way they're getting off scot-free from this, and there's no way they're going to be the same. He goes back upstairs and sees Dutch in his bed, as close to the edge of it as possible. He's facing away from him, curled up tightly, and Hosea assumes he's asleep.

He crawls into the bed as quietly as he could, facing away from Dutch, not wanting to wake the other man. They both needed sleep, Dutch considerably more than Hosea, because he could tell that life as they knew it was going to change, and not for the better.

"I heard you throwing up," Dutch says, his voice quiet, and Hosea almost jumps.

Hosea frowns, even though Dutch couldn't see it.

The bed shifts as Dutch turns around and Hosea does the same.

"I messed up, didn't I?"

Something softens in Hosea's eyes, and he lets out a quiet sigh. He doesn't know how to respond, how to comfort him, how to make everything better, so instead, he says, " _get some sleep, Dutch_."


	7. hollow laughs and tight hugs

If either of them got any sleep, which Hosea doubted, it would have been a very little amount.

A few hours pass, and that whole time Hosea just thinks. He was good at that, but he didn't quite like the things he was thinking about. Didn't like thinking about how his best friend has lost the woman he loved, and how he'd killed the people who murdered her. Didn't like thinking about how when people found out, Dutch would be wanted, and if he was caught then he'd be killed. Didn't like thinking about the possibility of living without Dutch.

He doesn't think he likes thinking as much as he used to.

"I'm going to get you food," Hosea says, abruptly, needing to stop his mind from racing for just a second. He knows Dutch isn't asleep.

"I'm not hungry."

" _Dutch_ ," Hosea says in that tone of voice that told him he wasn't to be argued with, "you need to eat."

Dutch stays silent, and Hosea can see him fiddling with the end of the sheet that covered his body, "be quick." 

"Of course."

Hosea closes the door behind him as he leaves his room. His parents should be up by now, and even the thought of talking to them is making him nervous. As he walks downstairs, he's greeted by his father at the table downstairs. He has a scowl on his face, and while that's not exactly new, it makes him feel even more uneasy if that was even possible.

"You had any contact with that Dutch boy, lately?" he asks as soon as he sees Hosea. Hosea feels his stomach lurch and thinks he might throw up again.

"No," he lies, and prays that it is convincing enough, "why?"

"The bastard's gone and killed some people," Hosea inhales a sharp breath but is glad that his father doesn't seem to notice, "he killed Annabelle, that sweet girl who worked at the general store, you know her? And some of the boys who helped around town. Nice men they were. Got the whole town looking for him, everyone wants to string him up."

Hosea hides his hands behind his back, just in case his father notices how tightly they were clenched, "how'd you know it was him?"

"Bartender said he heard screaming out back of the saloon, and when he went to check he saw their bodies. Said Dutch and Annabelle had been there a few hours before all loved up. What a _sick boy_ he is, killing that girl like he did."

His heart is racing so fast in his chest that he nods solemnly. He doesn't think he could bear to be down there any longer and turns around to go back upstairs before he accidentally gives something away, food would have to wait.

"Aren't you gonna get something to eat, son?" his father calls out to him, and Hosea swallows thickly.

He shakes his head but doesn't turn around, one leg paused on the stairs, "I'm not hungry no more."

He hurries upstairs, as fast as possible without it looking suspicious, not giving his father time to respond. He almost slams the door shut behind him as he walks into his bedroom, leaning against it as he takes in a deep breath, which does nothing to calm his nerves. Dutch is sitting up on his bed, head turning to face him when he heard him enter. When he sees Hosea, his face pales.

"What happened?"

"They know."

Dutch swears under his breath and puts his head in his hands, his fingers gripping so tightly at his hair that Hosea is surprised he hasn't torn it out but now. Hosea moves from his place at the door to stand at the foot of his bed, "Dutch, they're saying you killed Annabelle."

Dutch jumps up off the bed at that, striding over to Hosea, his hands clenched at his sides, and his face twisted into a distraught grimace. If Hosea had been someone else, they might have been scared at just how much anger Dutch was looking at them with, but he knows it's not directed at him. They're face to face now, and Dutch jabs a finger right into Hosea's chest, hard enough that it hurts, but Hosea keeps quiet.

"You know, _you fucking know_ , I didn't kill her, Hosea. I would never hurt her, I fucking _loved_ her."

Hosea places his hands on Dutch's shoulders and can feel the tension in them, " _I_ know you didn't, but they don't. Th- they're gonna kill you Dutch."

Dutch's shoulders sag, and his face is forlorn. Hosea doesn't even have to hear Dutch speak to know what he was thinking.

"No," Hosea says, his voice firm, unarguable, "you- you are not turning yourself in."

"Hosea," Dutch starts, his hand coming up to grip Hosea's bicep. He squeezes it in what Hosea thinks is comfort, but it does nothing to help, "th-"

"I said _no_ ," Hosea says, his voice louder than he wanted it to be, "Dutch I can't lose you. I don't want you to die because of this."

"Annabelle is dead," Dutch tells him as if he needed another reminder, "the woman I loved is dead, w- what's left to live for?"

Hosea doesn't even hesitate.

" _Me. Live for me_."

Dutch exhales a shaky breath, his eyes failing to meet Hosea's.

"Where would I go?"

Hosea frowns as he ponders in thought for just a second, "I don't know. W- we just need to leave, and soon."

"We?"

"Dutch," Hosea says with a laugh that feels wrong in all the right places, "if they find out that I've been helping you, I'm as good as dead as well."

Dutch hangs his head, and looks up at him through his eyelashes, Hosea inhales a sharp breath before Dutch speaks, "I'm sorry I brought you in on this. I didn't want to ruin your life as well."

Hosea just shakes his head with a small, sad, laugh and pulls him close, wrapping his arm around Dutch's shoulders, his face nuzzling into Dutch's hair, as he tries to think, "my life would be ruined if you weren't here, Dutch."

Dutch is opening his mouth to respond when they hear a voice and the door starting to open.

This can't be good.


	8. hurried goodbyes and romantic ideas

As soon as they hear the squeak of the opening door, both men pull away as if the other were fire. Hosea doesn't even have time to react before he sees his father looking in holding, what Hosea assumed, was a bowl of food.

It didn't matter anyway, because as soon as his father saw Dutch standing there, the bowl slips from his hands, the metal colliding with the wood beneath their feet with a loud clatter, the contents of it spilling out over the floor.

His father's face twists up into a scowl, and Hosea swears he's never seen hatred as pure as how his father looks at Dutch. Hosea moves so he's slightly more in front of Dutch, his hand reaching blindly out behind him to grab the front of Dutch's shirt and keep him still behind him, as they both stare wearily at the man in front of them.

" _You_ ," his father says, his voice a dangerously low growl, taking a small, menacing, step towards the two of them. His father hadn't taken his eyes off of Dutch the entire time, and Hosea opens his mouth to respond, but couldn't find the right words to say.

It all happens so suddenly that at first Hosea doesn't even register it. His father is, what felt like, almost instantly lunging for Dutch, shoving Hosea out of the way so hard he falls to the ground, his much larger hands wrapping around Dutch's throat.

They both fall to the ground and Hosea is yelling at his father to let go, scampering to his feet and trying his hardest to pull him off of Dutch, but his father was by no means a small man, he was large in both height and size, and it seemed like his efforts were just making everything worse. Dutch's gasps for air as his father's hands tighten around his throat makes Hosea feel like he's going to vomit. Involuntary tears are pouring down Dutch's face as he desperately tries to suck in as much air as he could, how ever little it was.

Hosea is yelling, screaming at his father to let go, but he won't listen, no matter how much Hosea begs, and no matter how hard he tugs on his father's shoulders, trying his hardest to pull him off, he just won't budge. Hosea has never felt this helpless in his life.

Dutch is clawing at his father's face, out of desperation more than anything, and he must have done something because his father is reeling back, in pain, letting his fingers loosen around Dutch's neck for a second too long. They both simultaneously push Hosea's father as hard as they can, sending him toppling over. A sickening crack fills the room, and his father lays there, unmoving.

Blood starts to pool from underneath his father's head, and Hosea stands there until his legs start shaking, buckling out from underneath him, sending him falling to the ground.

"Oh god, oh _fuck_ ," Hosea curses as he scurries over to his father. There's so much blood. They're really fucked now.

He hears Dutch coughing roughly to the side of him and turns his attention away from his father. Dutch had a hand on his throat, and Hosea can see the deep red handprints around his throat, even seeing it makes all the fear vanish momentarily, instead replaced with burning anger. He moves over to where Dutch is, tries to calm him, to help him breathe through his ragged coughs.

It takes a short while, but eventually, Dutch is breathing semi normally again. He wipes the tears away with the palms of his hands and takes deep lungfuls of air. Hosea didn't even realise how much Dutch was shaking until he goes to stand up. Hosea keeps one hand curled around Dutch's arm, offering him the stability that he desperately needed.

"What are we going to do?" Dutch asks, both men ignoring just how strained his voice sounded.

"L- let's go to Bessie's, she'll know what to do," Hosea said, his mind racing to form a plan, because whether they wanted to believe it or not, Bessie was their best chance as getting out.

Dutch looks like he was going to argue, but instead, he stays silent and nods his head. 

"Take us through the alleyways, "Hosea tells Dutch as they leave the house, "ain't wise to be walking down the street where anyone could see us."

Dutch nods, a hand still delicately placed on his neck to soothe the bruises that are starting to form. He silently takes Hosea's hand in his own and leads them through. Even in his state, Dutch leads them easily through, and soon enough they're by Bessie's house. With, what felt like, the first bit of luck they've had in a while, there doesn't seem to be anyone on the streets nearby.

Hosea hurriedly knocks on the door, whilst Dutch keeps a look out for anyone. Whilst he's waiting for Bessie to open the door, Hosea shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot. Hosea is just about to knock again before the door opens sharply, and Bessie is standing there. She lets them both in and closes the door behind them.

When Hosea looks at Bessie next, he sees the scowl on her face, one that's directed solely at Dutch. She must have already heard the rumours. Why can't anyone in this town keep their mouths shut?

"Did you kill her?" she asks, instantly, and Hosea can't even bear to look at Dutch.

"What kind of question is that, Bessie?" Hosea asks exasperatedly, "no, _of course_ , he didn't kill her."

At Hosea's words, she softens, impossibly so, and hurries over to Dutch. Gently peeling away the hand covering his bruises, to take a look at them herself, "it was foolish of me to ask. I know how much you loved her. Practically the whole town thinks you did."

Dutch looks forlornly down, and they both stand there in a saddened silence before Hosea is remembering the more obvious problem at hand.

"Bessie we need to get out of here. Can- can you help us?"

She gives him a knowing look, one that Hosea doesn't even want to bother deciphering, and nods her head, "I'll get some horses ready. You two pack yourselves some food," Hosea nods and heads to the kitchen, while Dutch stands still, his eyes not moving from their place on the ground, "and Dutch?" he looks up, "get yourself some water, it might help with your throat."

Dutch pauses for a second, before nodding his head and going to join Hosea in the kitchen.

They all move as quickly as they can, Dutch eventually helping Hosea grab essentials after drinking some water as Bessie suggested. Dutch is still in the kitchen, whilst Bessie and Hosea are outside, getting everything stored on the horses.

"So," Bessie starts, "you and Dutch running away together, huh?"

That woman never could resist, could she?

"Now _ain't_ the time, Bessie."

She carries on as if she hadn't heard a word he said, "it's kinda romantic, y'know."

" _Bessie_ ," he says, his voice a warning.

She lets out a laugh, and Hosea couldn't miss the solemn tone to it, "ah, I'm just kidding, Hosea... I'll miss you boys, y'know."

Hosea pauses what was doing, and turns to face her, a sad smile on his face, "we'll miss you too."

"Keep him safe, Hosea, you hear? Stay with him. He's been through a lot, don't make it worse by running away on him."

"I wouldn't do that to him."

"Good."

They stay in silence after that, and soon enough, both focusing on getting everything ready for their departure. It's almost funny, Hosea thinks, in all his dreams of finally getting away from this town, he never thought it would have been because of something like this. 

Time is running out, and when everything is eventually ready, they hurriedly say their goodbyes.

"Thank you, Bessie," Dutch tells her, his voice as strong as he could make it. She pats his cheek lightly and then pulls him in for a hug.

"You was always like a little brother to me, Dutch. I'm gonna miss you, you little brat."

Dutch laughs at that, burying his face into her shoulder as he hugs her impossibly tighter, "we'll come back to you one day. I promise."

She presses a light kiss to his hair, turning her attention to look at Hosea who was standing there, keeping an eye out for anyone who came too close. Hosea gives her a smile, and she gives him one right back.

"You better stick to your promise, young man," she tells him as they pull away.

Dutch gives her a smile, wide and genuine, "of course, old girl."

She playfully smacks his arm, before going over to Hosea. She pulls him in for a hug, and he gladly gives in.

"You always were a good man, Hosea Matthews."

He laughs into her hair, "I don't know about that, Bessie."

"You was the best out of all of us, Hosea, don't kid yourself."

Hosea is about to open his mouth to respond, but Dutch is calling out to them, saying that they need to hurry up because some people are getting close. Hosea pulls away with a frown, having so many things that he wanted to say, but so little time to say them.

"We _will_ come back to you, one day."

She smiles up at him, beautiful and blinding, just like she was, "I don't doubt it for a second, Hosea."

Hosea pulls away fully, and both he and Dutch mount up on their horses. It's only just now beginning to fully sink in for both of them.

"You look after each other, hear? Each other is all you got now. Stay safe, because I love you boys."

Dutch and Hosea both say their goodbyes, both men knowing it wasn't half of what they truly wanted to say.

"You better get back inside, Bessie," Hosea says, "you shouldn't be seen helping us. And if anyone asks about your missing horses, just say we robbed you, might as well blame us for everything that goes wrong in this godforsaken town."

Bessie laughs at that, but then does what he said, giving them a sad smile and one last wave before she's going inside.

"We should leave quickly," Hosea says, spurring his horse, "sooner we get out and far away from here, the better."

Dutch nods his head and gives one last meaningful look at Bessie's house before he's hurrying his horse to join Hosea's side.

He just hopes that now finally, he could leave all this mess behind.


	9. blue water and hopeful promises

It takes a while, but _eventually_ , things start to go right for them.

After countless weeks of wondering, of camping in the wilderness, of huddling up together in the same tent for warmth as the rain pours down incessantly, they managed to find an abandoned house, far away from anything that could cause problems. The nearest town is close enough that they could get there in an hour or two if they wanted to, but not too close, and the house looking abandoned enough so that people wouldn't give it a second thought if they happened to pass it.

The house itself isn't too bad, and neither men could complain, whilst slightly run down, it was better than either of them expected, although there was one downfall.

There was only one bed.

Upon discovering it, they both agreed to take turns sleeping on the couch, although due to how uncomfortable it was, when it was their turn, neither man slept very well upon it.

Annabelle's death is still this raw, gaping, _mess_ in Dutch's chest, but it was what to be expected, and Hosea must admit, Dutch seems to be handling it better than he thought he would. It took a while, and after many attempts at lifting Dutch's spirits had failed, almost getting to a point where Hosea was considering giving up entirely, but Dutch's smiles started getting more and more genuine, and soon enough, he was almost his old self again.

He had started reading more now. As a kid, he didn't have enough patience for it, found it too boring, but after Hosea had found a book by Evelyn Miller in one of the rooms of the house, Dutch had become transfixed with it. Read the whole damn book in one day and spent hours afterwards rambling about it to Hosea. 

If he hadn't been so glad to see Dutch happy again, Hosea might have been annoyed by the, what felt like days worth of Dutch rambling about things that Hosea didn't care to understand. But then again, this was Dutch, and Hosea knows he would gladly listen to anything Dutch had to say if it made him happy, no matter if Hosea knew anything about the subject.

Hosea had sent Dutch to the nearest town to get food. Hosea had suggested that he teach Dutch how to hunt, but both men knew that Dutch didn't have enough patience for it, and disregarded the idea almost immediately. Hosea would offer to go but his lungs have been acting up lately, causing him to cough and splutter whilst he tried to sleep, and sometimes during the day, and had on multiple occasions woken Dutch up in the middle of the night. Dutch had checked up on him, his concern obvious through his weak attempts at humour, staying up with him for the rest of the night whilst his chest rattled with every breath he took. Dutch had made a joke, something about Hosea having an old person's set of lungs in a young person's body and Hosea had laughed as best he could.

He had convinced Dutch that it was just a cough, and Dutch seemed content enough to believe it, his relieved smile almost enough to make him forget the ache in his lungs.

But until that got better, because him coughing whilst trying to hunt would scare away all the game in the area and Hosea had better things to do than to fail at hunting, Dutch would have to get food. They had enough money stashed away, as they had occasionally robbed people as they travelled down the road that ran a little way away from their house, it was rotten work, but making sure that they both were safe, and had enough money to survive, was enough to keep his finger on the trigger as he demanded they give him all the money they had.

Dutch had returned with a crooked smile, so similar to the one Hosea saw when they were kids that he almost forgot that everything they knew had gone. Dutch still looked so young, even in his mid-twenties, and his smile was so bright, not quite as bright as it was years before, now more akin to the stars fading as the sun comes out and makes them all disappear than the blindingly bright smile of the sun itself that he used to have those years before. He doesn't quite know why, but his smile, makes his breath hitch in his throat, and this time he doesn't think that it's because of his damaged lungs.

He has enough food to last them for a while, and Hosea doesn't fail to notice the book in his hand.

Hosea asks about it, and if that was possible, Dutch's grin widens. He holds it up for Hosea to see. Another book by Evelyn Miller.

"'bout time you got a new one," Hosea says, "read that old one I found so many times I bet you could recite it for memory."

Dutch laughs, his eyes falling down to look at the book in his hand. 

He looks up at Hosea through his eyelashes, "saw this lake not too far from here, real big and _real_ pretty, was gonna go down there and do some reading. Wanna join?"

Dutch is already holding his hand out to help Hosea up from his place on the couch where he had fallen asleep before Dutch came home. Hadn't even waited for a response, but then again, _how could he ever say no to Dutch?_

Hosea accepts the hand almost instantly, and gets up with a groan, stretching once he's standing up, Hosea turns to ask Dutch a question, but he's already halfway out the door. Even though he sighs, he can't help the small smile that makes its way to his face. He's hurrying to join him, Dutch already mounted up and waiting impatiently for him.

"Hosea, come on," Dutch says, his fingers drumming over the cover of his book, "if you don't hurry up, I'll leave without you."

"Yeah, yeah," Hosea says dismissively, and a rather big part of him wants to let him take his time just to annoy Dutch, but knowing him, he actually would leave him behind, so just this once, he'll oblige Dutch.

Dutch is spurring his horse to leave just as Hosea climbs on to his own horse, and Hosea is quickly catching up with him.

"How far away is it?" Hosea asks once he's caught up.

Dutch doesn't seem to hear him though, his head turned away, looking at the surrounding area. Dutch always did love looking at nature, and Hosea doesn't doubt for a second that if Dutch could draw even semi-good, he'd spend all his time sketching all the things he sees outside, but Hosea had asked him once, out of curiosity more than anything, to draw something. It had taken Hosea ten minutes to guess what it was, not by lack of guesses on Hosea's part. Dutch told Hosea it was a tree, and Hosea had laughed so hard he cried. Dutch acted like he was mad, buy Hosea could see the smile on his face through Hosea's tears of laughter.

Caught up in the memory, Hosea realised that Dutch still hadn't answered him, and moves his horse closer to him to swat his arm gently. Dutch's head turns to face him, "what?"

"I said," Hosea tells him with a roll of his eyes, "how far away is it?"

"Not far," Dutch said, "found it whilst I was going into town."

"This isn't on the path to town."

Dutch shrugs, a gentle smile on his face, "I got distracted."

Hosea snorts out a laugh. Of course he did. Hosea swears Dutch's attention span was the shortest thing in the world. If you tell him to do something, he'll go off for a few hours and do everything on god's green earth that is there to do _except_ the thing you asked of him. Although it always gave him funny stories to tell. 

"We're all gonna be in the ground one day," Dutch had said jokingly one time, "might as well have interesting stories to tell the dirt."

Hosea had smiled when he said that and had nudged Dutch's shoulder gently. Dutch shoved back, twice as hard and they both started laughing. Hosea loved moments like that, where it felt like he and Dutch were the only two people on earth, and when he thinks about it, he and Dutch being the last two people around doesn't sound like quite such a bad idea.

"We're here," Dutch calls out to him, slowing his horse down, and turning to head into the trees, "just past these trees."

When Dutch said that it was real big and real pretty, he _really_ wasn't lying.

The water is one of the prettiest shades of turquoise that Hosea had ever seen, and he takes a second to marvel at it, the sunlight shimmered on the little ripples that were caused by the fish swimming below. On the other side, a herd of deer drink from it, their heads bowed gracefully as they drank, peaceful and undisturbed. 

"It's a beautiful place, isn't it?" Dutch says with a grin, almost like he was proudly standing by his own creation, as he dismounts.

He finds a tree and ungracefully sits down. Hosea takes his time appreciating the view, looking at the birds in the trees and the various animals around before sitting down next to Dutch, who was already engrossed in his book. Their thighs and their shoulders touch, but neither of them seem to care.

"Want me to read to you?" 

Hosea considers it for a second, but thinks against it with a shake of his head, he doesn't want to slow him down.

"I find him a little too nihilistic for my tastes."

Dutch frowns slightly, and looks up from his book, "nihilistic? My dear Hosea, I think you might be vastly misinterpreting Mr Miller's words."

"Oh _really?_ " Hosea says, a smug grin on his face.

" _Yes_ , _really_ ," Dutch deadpans.

"Then what was that one chapter you read to me in that American Inferno book by him. What was that line again?" Dutch stays silent as Hosea ponders in thought, "men are fixated on greed, on desire, and... and, oh god, _what was it?_ And-"

"And on the acquisition not of experience or pleasures, but on the ability to acquire." Dutch finishes the sentence like it was written on the back of his hand and Hosea has to force himself not to smile.

"Is that _not_ nihilistic to you?"

Dutch tilts his head as he thinks, his brows furrowing slightly, "well it's the truth," he says with a laugh, "but nihilism? I believe that Miller sees meaning in places that we don't, he doesn't see value in money or wealth, he sees value in happiness and freedom."

Hosea mulls over his words, and is inclined to believe him because, well, he is the expert on Miller after all, "I suppose you're right."

Dutch let a small smile form on his face, using his hand to keep his place as he closes the book and looks at Hosea.

"This world is very, very big," Dutch starts and Hosea huffs out a laugh at Dutch's inarticulateness, "there's places for us to go, places where we'll be free, and I mean truly free, there's a whole world that's meant for our eyes to see. I mean, what good is living the life you've been given if all you do is stay in once place? We can go west, get some land, finally live without the law on our backs. I mean, if we go there, we could finally live, and not just survive."

"You're going too fast, Dutch," Hosea says, nudging Dutch lightly with his shoulder, "we only just got here, something like that is gonna take a lot of money, and we don't have nearly enough for all your big ideas."

Dutch looks down in thought, and mumbles, "I suppose you're right."

"One day we'll get there."

"You think?"

Hosea smiles, " _I know_."

Dutch smiles too, bright and hopeful, before he's turning back to his book.

Hosea doesn't think he'll ever admit it out loud but he loves watching Dutch read. He never used to before, so now that he's started, Hosea is realising just how fascinating it is to witness. His brow furrows as he tries to understand the meaning of the words as his brown eyes scan along the text. Occasionally, Dutch would mouth what he was reading, running his finger along the line he was reading as if not to lose his place. Evelyn Miller really did make him think.

Hosea liked thinking, but he preferred to put the thoughts in his own head, rather than let them be guided by someone else's words. He supposes that's just another difference between him and Dutch. Somewhere after they fall into that comfortable silence, Hosea falls asleep, head leaning on Dutch's shoulder, who is too entranced with his book to even realise. When he wakes up, he assumes that a few hours have passed because the sun is lower than it was before, and he is in no way surprised that Dutch was in the exact same position as he was before he woke up, still hunched over his book, brows furrowed and mouth parted slightly open, and Hosea notices that he's _already_ nearly finished the book.

"Dutch?" Hosea yawns, stretching as he stands up. He misses the warmth from Dutch's body as soon as he stood up.

Dutch hums but doesn't look away from his book.

"Don't you think it's about time we get back? It's gonna get dark soon."

"Five more minutes."

" _Dutch_ ," Hosea says, his voice firm but soft in a way that only Hosea could do.

"What?"

"We both know in five minutes time you're gonna say the exact same thing again. C'mon the sooner we get back, the sooner you can finish your book."

Dutch sighs, but closes the book and looks up at Hosea. There's something indistinguishable in his eyes and Hosea yearns to know all about it.

He stays quiet and offers Dutch a hand up, which he accepts with a thanks. They're both practically silent as they walk back to their horses, Hosea apologising to his horse for leaving her alone for so long, pulling a carrot out of his saddlebag and offering to her with a pat, which she accepts gladly.

"You're awfully quiet," Hosea says as he mounts up, "if I had known Mr Miller could shut you up like this, I would have bought his whole bibliography for you."

Dutch lets out one short, dry, sarcastic, laugh as he mounts up as well, " _very_ funny, Hosea."

"Seriously," Hosea says, his voice impossibly soft, as they set off his eyes searching for an answer that he wouldn't get verbally, "what's wrong?"

Dutch shakes his head, "it's nothing, Hosea. The book just got me thinking, is all."

"That's never a good sign," Hosea says, hoping that it'll lift the mood.

Luckily, it works, because a small smile forms on his face, as he looks down, the trotting of the horse making his body sway, "a true comedian, aren't you?"

"I like picking on idiots."

Dutch huffs out a laugh, this time louder, and perhaps the most genuine that Hosea has heard in a while. They fall into that comfortable silence once more, and five, maybe ten, minutes pass before Dutch turns his head to look at him, "you'll follow me wherever I go, won't you, Hosea?"

Their eyes meet, hazel on brown, and that was really all the conformation that Dutch needed.

Still, Hosea says, not even slightly unfazed by the abruptness of his question, "of course, Dutch."

"To the ends of the earth?"

"To the ends of the earth."

Dutch gives him a lopsided smile, and Hosea thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"That's all I've ever wanted."


	10. empty cups and red faces

It's late at night, and Dutch lets out a quiet sigh, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes, his palms digging into the sockets. Another sleepless night, another night spent thinking about Annabelle. He missed her still, every, single, day. Hosea had made things easier, had made the pain lessen considerably, but when he wasn't there, Dutch's mind always wandered back to her. The memory of her brings along a pain that he never thought would be associated with her.

She had him completely, heart and soul. Maybe she knew, maybe she didn't, but he was all hers, and now she was dead, rotting in a grave somewhere. He'll never get to reclaim her love, and he knows that's just how it goes, but it doesn't stop the bone-deep ache, that finds itself embedded in his heart whenever he thinks of her. He isn't the same person from all those years ago; doesn't know if he could ever allow himself to love someone like that ever again. Dutch doesn't know how he'll bear it if someone he loves like that leaves him again.

He sits up and turns around so that his feet are placed firmly on the ground, leaning over so that his forearms are resting on his thighs. It was his turn on the couch again. He can already tell that he's not going to be able to get any sleep like this. He's standing up before he even realises that he is, his feet taking him to the room where Hosea is sleeping without him even telling them to. The door to the room opens with a squeak, and Hosea stirs awake, he always was a light sleeper.

"Dutch?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes as he tries to wake himself up, "what's wrong?"

"Can't sleep," Dutch says with a shrug, "can I sleep in the bed with you?"

"Sure," Hosea says, his eyes already closed. Hosea rolls over to his side, as Dutch makes his way to the other side of the bed, "just don't take all the covers like last time."

" _Actually_ ," Dutch starts, indignantly, " _you_ took all the covers-" Dutch pauses and hears Hosea's faint snoring, "...first."

Dutch can't help the small smile that makes its way to his face and climbs into the bed as quietly as he could, letting out a sigh as his head hits the pillows, he stares up at the ceiling and trying everything he could to trick himself into falling asleep. It may have been minutes, or it may have been hours, but eventually, it worked, and he could finally get Annabelle out of his head.

  
Hosea wakes up first like he always does. Dutch was never a morning person, and Hosea had long since stopped trying to make him one. Whenever he woke up early, either Hosea had to give him a strong cup of coffee, with sugar because Dutch refused to drink it if it didn't have sugar, or Dutch would spend half the day grumbling and moaning about every little thing. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's annoying, but Hosea found that it was just easier to let him wake up when he wanted to.

They are both facing each other, both laying down, Dutch's mouth parted open slightly as he sleeps, his hand outstretched like he's almost reaching for Hosea. He couldn't see his eyes, but Hosea knows that under Dutch's eyelids are a pair of, what he considers to be the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen. He doesn't doubt for a second that if Dutch flashed his doe eyes, Hosea would gladly do anything he asked of him.

Dutch shifts in his sleep, and for a second, Hosea fears that he's woken him, but he soon stills, his shoulders moving with every breath that he takes. Hosea reaches out and brushes a stray curl behind Dutch's ear, and still, he doesn't wake. His hand gently brushes against Dutch's stubble as he pulls away. Dutch had asked him one night if he should consider growing a moustache, and Hosea had just laughed and told him that if anyone could pull it off, it would be him. Hosea just can't rid the smile on his face from the memory.

He must have accidentally laughed, or something, because he's hearing Dutch's voice, still half slurred from being half asleep, "Hosea?"

He rubs his eyes as he lets out a loud yawn.

"Did I wake you?"

Dutch shakes his head as he stretches, his back arching off the bed as he does so, "what time is it?"

"It's early for you," Hosea says with a laugh as Dutch frowns at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think we both know what I mean."

"Yeah, well, mornings ain't my thing."

" _I know_."

Dutch frowns some more and is about to say something, but Hosea cuts him off, "you want coffee?"

Dutch shakes his head as he sits up, Hosea following suit, and their shoulders are nearly touching, "I'm good for now."

Hosea raises a brow, "the infamous Dutch Van Der Linde doesn't want a coffee in the morning? What happened to him?"

Dutch let out a dry laugh and shoves Hosea lightly, "you should become a comedian."

"Ah, I doubt I'd get anywhere. Most of my jokes are centred on making fun of you."

Dutch laughs at that, "you certainly do like making fun of people who are smarter than you."

Hosea raises his brows, a big grin on his face, Dutch rarely played along with jokes like this, too many attempts of trying to beat Hosea at his own game had failed, so Dutch had stopped trying and instead just laughed along.

"You may be smarter than I am, but at least I can draw a tree that looks vaguely like what it was meant to be."

Dutch opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out, and seconds pass, before Dutch is saying, "that ain't fair, and you know it."

Hosea is laughing, and looping an arm around Dutch's shoulders, hand ruffling his already messy hair, "ah you're right, maybe one day you'll develop some artistic skill."

"You're a mean man, Hosea Matthews."

"You're just jealous that you can't keep up with my wit."

"One day I'll beat you at your game, old man."

"I don't doubt that, "Hosea says as pulls his arm away, and starts to get up, "now c'mon, Dutch, might as well get up now."

Dutch sighs and lets his head drop back, "now?"

"Yes, _now_."

Dutch frowns some more but eventually nods his head. Hosea is already standing, and just about to leave the room, but is stopped when Dutch calls out to him, his eyes are closed and his hands are placed behind his head, and Hosea can't help but smile, "actually, Hosea, could you make me that coffee after all. You know how I like it."

"Sure. I'll bring it to you when it's ready."

Dutch thanks him as Hosea leaves the room and starts to make coffee for the both of them. It doesn't take long before it's ready, and Hosea is heading back to their bedroom. He doesn't exactly know why he's surprised that Dutch is fast asleep when he enters the room, but he is. He lets out a laugh and places the coffee on the bedside table before he's shaking Dutch awake.

"Couldn't let a man get five extra minutes of sleep?"

"Well, once you have your coffee, you won't _need_ to get extra sleep."

Dutch grumbles something under his bed, but Hosea doesn't catch it. Hosea sits down on the bed, nudging Dutch to move over and make room for him to sit down.

"Was gonna head into town for a bit, see if I could strike up some business."

"I'm sure you'll be successful."

Hosea hums into his coffee as he takes a sip of it, "oh, and uh, am gonna see if I could get you another one of those books you like, by that Miller bloke. Saw you reading that first one I found for you again, how many times is it now? Two? Three?"

"Four," Dutch corrected him.

Hosea smiled because _of course_ he would have read it four times by now, "think even _you_ must get bored of reading the same book four times over."

Dutch smiles and looks down at the cup of coffee in his hand, already half-finished, and looks back up at Hosea through his eyelashes, "you're a good man, Mr Matthews, don't know what I'll do without you."

"Let's not kid ourselves, Dutch, if I weren't here, keeping your ass in check, you'd probably be running a gang at this point."

Dutch laughs loudly, and finishes the rest of his coffee before placing on the bedside table, "you're probably right."

"You were always so good to me," Dutch continues, "no-one was ever as nice to me as you were."

Hosea shrugs, "you mean a lot to me, Dutch. You were the first true friend I had."

"Still," Dutch says, his voice quieter than before, a small smile on his face, "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

Hosea doesn't think his heart has ever quite felt like this before, and Hosea doesn't quite know why he did what he did next. Doesn't know what part of his body thought of it, whether it be his heart or his head, but neither men realise what's happening before Hosea is kissing him.

Dutch tastes like coffee, sweet and bitter at the same time in only a way he could accomplish. His lips are soft, softer than Hosea thought they would have been, and Hosea thinks he could get drunk off the feeling of it alone. At first, Hosea thinks he's made a mistake, that he's fucked everything up, but then Dutch is kissing back for just a second, and Hosea fools himself into thinking that everything might be okay, stupidly having hope. But then, almost as soon as it happens, Dutch is pulling away, his eyes wide, and mouth parted in surprise more than anything.

"I, uh," Dutch starts, failing to meet Hosea's eyes, the tone of his voice, making Hosea's stomach drop, "I'm sorry, but I- I can't."

Hosea feels his cheeks burn up with bright hot embarrassment, he looks away, fingers gripping the side of the bed, saying, "it- it's my fault."

Hosea pushes up off the bed, still not having spared Dutch a single look since he broke away. The air is awkward, so much so that Hosea thinks he might drown in it. He wants to get away, even for a second, to just think. He starts to head out the door.

"Hosea-" Dutch starts, something in his voice that Hosea hasn't heard in a long time. Hosea doesn't know if it's fear or worry or hurt, or maybe it's a mixture of the three, or maybe Hosea is telling himself that because it's what he wants to hear, but either way, Hosea doesn't want to figure it out at that moment.

Hosea cuts him off, "I'm going to head into town. I'll see if I can find you that book."

He doesn't bother waiting for Dutch's answer before he's leaving the room.


	11. confused thoughts and honest gifts

Hosea takes his time heading into town, the ride was long enough as it was, but Hosea was in no rush whatsoever. He had his horse moving at the slowest possible speed she could go that wasn't downright stationary, and it still felt like he had reached the town too early. No matter how hard he had tried to wrap his head around everything that had happened, he still couldn't comprehend it.

He had been so sure, _so goddamned sure_ that Dutch felt the same way, but maybe he didn't know him as well as he thought he did.

Or maybe he was just a fool for falling in love with someone who couldn't love him back. But then again, Dutch had kissed him back. That part was perhaps the most confusing for him. He feels like it would have been easier to handle downright rejection, but this... this just made things so much more confusing. 

Dutch had kissed back, but then he had pulled away. Was Hosea not good enough? Was that the reason he pulled away? He had tried all these years to help Dutch, to be there for him, _hell_ , he threw away his entire life for him, he thought he proved that he could be what Dutch needed. Especially after Annabelle. Maybe Hosea was being too selfish.

Had Dutch not gotten over her?

If so, Hosea could understand, but Dutch had shown no signs of grief for her lately, and whenever Hosea had worked up the courage and had asked Dutch had firmly insisted that he was fine, that he was healing, slowly but surely, and Hosea had believed him. Maybe Hosea was a fool for doing so.

"Sir?" the voice of the shopkeeper stuns him out of his reverie, and Hosea stares blankly at him.

"Huh?"

"Your payment, sir?"

Hosea looked down at the counter in front of him. Looks straight at the Evelyn Miller book he had found and doesn't even hesitate before he's handing the money over and thanking the shopkeeper for their time.

For a book as light as it was, it felt like lead in his hands. He briefly wonders with a laugh if Miller could help him figure out just what fucking exactly was happening, and just how to fix whatever mess Hosea had gotten them into. But the thought, whilst funny at first, turned sour almost instantly and makes his gut twist into knots so sharp that Hosea considers just tossing the book away.

He feels guilty about even having the thought.

He's busy shoving the book into his saddlebag when he spots the saloon out of the corner of his eye. Hosea absentmindedly feeds his horse a carrot while he considers what to do, but he supposes the decision was already made as soon as the sign had caught his eye.

He turns to his horse and tells her, patting her mane gently, "I won't be long, now."

Although he supposes it was more to himself than it was to her.

The saloon is quieter than what Hosea is used to, and the change is welcomed. It was nothing similar to the one back home, and well, he supposes that wasn't much of a home anymore. No, his home now was with Dutch, and even that doesn't bring him as much joy as it used to His mind reminds him of the day Annabelle died and Hosea considers leaving right then and there. As he walks over to the bartender, he makes eye contact with a few shady people that he wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of, and well, that was nothing new. In every bar you go to, there are at least a few people ready to shoot you at a moment's notice.

"Ah, a new face," the bartender says cheerily as Hosea reaches him, almost a stark contrast to the other people loitering around, "what'll it be?"

"Beer, please."

"That'll be ten cents."

Fair price, Hosea thinks.

Hosea gives him the money whilst looking around the place. While a few of the people looked intimidating, he doubts any of them are smarter than a rock, all muscle and no brain, and Hosea was very used to that. He could get some decent money here if he was careful. Hosea turns his attention to the bartender when he hears the sound of glass connecting with wood and sees the beer placed down in front of him.

"Between you and me," the bartender starts, leaning in closer, "it ain't wise to steal from the people round here. They can get _real_ nasty if they catch you taking their stuff."

Hosea feigns surprise, and hopes it is convincing enough for the bartender, "what makes you think I'm here to rob?"

The bartender laughs, as if it was the most obvious thing, "it's in your eyes."

Hosea takes a deep swig of his beer, wasn't exactly the nicest liquor he's ever had, "surprisingly, it ain't the first time I've heard that."

"Then maybe you should start listening."

Hosea shrugs, and finishes off his beer, probably too quickly for his own good, "maybe, also could I get another beer?"

He leaves the bar a short while after that, both somehow simultaneously too soon and too late. He's tipsy enough so that the unsettling feel to the place was gone, but not tipsy enough to get rid of the dread about going back to Dutch. A large part of him hopes that Dutch had gone to sleep, it was his turn in the bed, and that Hosea could slip right on in back home and get some shut-eye himself.

But somehow, even in his drunken state, he doubts he'll be that lucky.

And god, sometimes he hated being right.

He walks inside as quietly as he could, just in case Dutch actually was asleep, but as soon as he walks in he sees Dutch sitting on the couch, book in one hand, because of course when does he not have a book in his hand, and booze in the other, and it seems like they both had the same idea.

"Got that book for you," Hosea says, his voice harder than he meant it to be.

Dutch looks up at him, and he looks so damn tired for someone so young. His eyes fall from Hosea's face down to the book in his hands, "thank you, Hosea."

Hosea shrugs his shoulders as a response and walks over to the place Dutch was sitting, He tosses the book over to him, and it lands right beside Dutch. He looks down at it and picks it up with a small smile on his face, and Hosea can't lie that he hasn't taken his eyes off of Dutch since he walked in. 

His eyes flutter down to the bottle in Dutch's hand, "you getting drunk?"

Dutch lets out a low chuckle, "yeah. Wanna join?"

Hosea can't deny that his first thought is no. Because no matter how much Hosea might want to lie to himself, the air is awkward and Dutch's smile isn't quite the same as it usually is, and he thinks it'll just be best if they both have some time to think. Hosea opens his mouth to reject the offer, but makes that mistake of making eye contact with Dutch.

Those goddamn eyes.

Hosea swears they could make him do anything.

" _Sure_."


	12. drunken words and kiss bitten lips

"Got the strong stuff," Dutch says as he gets up off the couch and leaves the room briefly before emerging back with two bottles of whiskey.

"We drinking straight from the bottle?"

Dutch gives him a lopsided smile, "thought we was gonna get drunk, Hosea. 'less you're not man enough for it."

Hosea lets out a laugh, Dutch really did know just what to say to get him riled up.

"Oh, I am plenty man enough for it, was just concerned seeing how poorly you handle your alcohol."

Dutch takes a small swig, and grimaces as he swallows it down, "still too quick for me, old man."

Hosea follows suit and drinks some, and well, Dutch really wasn't lying when he said it was the strong stuff. Hosea can't help but guess his hangover is going to kill him. But then Dutch starts talking, and everything almost feels normal again, and Hosea doesn't care to think about tomorrow him when he has a way more interesting thing to concentrate on.

  
He supposes that Hosea was telling the truth when he said that Dutch couldn't handle his alcohol.

The whiskey makes his head feel light and his body feel warm, but he guesses that might also be due to the fire that's currently crackling in the fireplace which they sit beside. He swears that he might drown in the pleasant feeling the alcohol creates and hasn't quite decided if that's a bad thing or not. Hosea is sat in front of him, cross-legged, a goofy smile on his face as he tells another one of his jokes that never fail to make Dutch roll his eyes. Dutch can't lie, he isn't really listening, is too focused on how the fire in the fireplace creates the most beautiful glow on Hosea's face. The shadows and the yellows and the oranges accentuate his features. From his piercing hazel eyes to the sharpness of his jawline and cheekbones.

Hosea was a very handsome man. Could get anyone he wanted, and Dutch had wondered exactly why he hadn't, but he supposes that's for another time.

Hosea pauses mid-sentence and huffs out a laugh, "are you even listening to me? You've got that dumb grin on your face that you only get when you've zoned out."

Dutch gives him his best hurt look, and can tell that Hosea isn't fooled in the slightest, "I listened to every word."

Hosea takes another swig of his drink, his face twisting into a slight grimace as he swallows it down, "what was I saying?"

"You were saying how much of an amazing friend I am to you."

Hosea laughs, his thrown back, and shoulders rocking, "nowhere fucking near."

Dutch rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face is as clear as day, "go on then, enlighten me on what you were saying."

"I was saying about if you remembered that one time when us two and Bessie got drunk that one night in the saloon, and you started that barfight."

Dutch's smile widens, "I remember now."

"And you was getting your ass handed to you-"

"I wasn't _that_ bad."

"You was pretty bad," Hosea says, and Dutch tries his best to look annoyed but knows that it doesn't work in the slightest, "and then Bessie comes over, drunker than both of us combined, and absolutely destroys everyone without more than a scratch."

Dutch laughs hard and drinks some more whiskey, "she could beat us both with one hand tied behind her back."

"She probably could," Hosea says with a chuckle.

Dutch takes another deep swig, a grimace on his face as the alcohol burns his throat, before he's saying, "y'know I really did use to think you was sweet on her."

Hosea's eyes widen slightly and he says, somewhat incredulously, "Bessie?"

Dutch nods and Hosea scoffs, "maybe in another life we was meant to be together, but this one wasn't it."

Dutch's expression turns solemn slightly, "that was because of me, weren't it?"

Hosea's brow furrows slightly, "how'd you mean?"

"If it weren't for you running away with me then... maybe you and her could'a had a chance."

Hosea shakes his head, and almost instantly regrets it when it makes his head _ache,_ "when I said in another life, I didn't mean it like that, Dutch. I meant... sure Bessie was beautiful but I could'a never thought of her like _that_."

"Define ' _that_ '."

Hosea couldn't help smile at that, Dutch always was too curious for his own good, "a girlfriend, a wife, a _lover_."

Dutch nods his head understandingly.

"And besides," Hosea continues, "she would have never taken any of my shit; she was too good for me. Especially seeing as how she whipped practically a whole bar's ass whilst drunk, I wouldn't have liked my chances if I got on the wrong side of her."

Dutch laughs at that, loud, his shoulders rocking and his head tilted back. The two stay in silence for a little bit, before Dutch sobers up.

"And then when the fight was over was... when I met Annabelle."

Immediately the mood shifts and Hosea gives Dutch a sad smile, "I suppose you still miss her."

"Every day."

"I'm still sorry about what happened."

Dutch takes a longer swig of his whiskey this time, an amount that Hosea knows would burn his throat almost unbearably.

"Me too."

Hosea looks away and is unsure of what to say, and he supposes that's what being drunk does to you.

He hears Dutch's voice, "hey, Hosea?"

Hosea turns his head to look at him but is instead met with Dutch's hands grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer. He tries to open his mouth to respond but is stopped when Dutch's mouth is smashed against his own. It takes his brain almost too long to register that Dutch is kissing him, but soon after that, he's kissing right back.

Dutch pulls away for just a second, and they're both sat there, pupils dilated and mouths parted as their breaths come out heavier than before. They're both thinking about what the _fuck_ is happening, before Dutch is moving to get on his feet, hand outstretched to bring Hosea up with him. Hosea doesn't need to hear Dutch to know that there's only one place in mind where he wants to go.

Dutch practically drags Hosea to their bedroom, not that Hosea was reluctant in the slightest, and he's only just through the door before Dutch is kissing him again. This time he tastes solely of booze, and not like coffee like the first time they kissed. The memory of it, and what happened after, leaves a twisting feeling in his gut, so instead of that, Hosea tries to think of Dutch's hands tightly curled around the fabric of his shirt, or of the rough feel of Dutch's stubble against his own. 

Hosea pushes against Dutch until the both of them are tumbling down onto their bed, Hosea hovering over him as he presses kiss after kiss to his neck and collarbone. Dutch wants to drown in the feeling of it. Hosea's fingers are fumbling with the buckle of Dutch's belt, but Dutch can't focus on it for long, because Hosea is kissing along the underside of his jaw now, and all he could think about was the feeling of Hosea's lips pressed to his skin. Hosea's knee is placed in between Dutch's legs, holding Hosea up as he hovers over him, and Dutch's hands are desperately clinging to Hosea's shirt, holding on as if he's worried everything would stop if he let go. No matter how hard he tries to keep them open, Dutch's eyes keep falling shut as he lets Hosea take control.

His belt is undone, he feels it taken away and hears it clatter against the floor. Hosea's hands are on him once more, slipping under his shirt to feel his skin. Dutch shivers from the coolness of Hosea's hands against the heat of his skin, and he feels Hosea smirk against his neck. Hosea's lips are pressed against his own now, open-mouthed and desperate. A hand is in Dutch's hair, fingers tangling themselves into the unruly locks.

"Hosea," Dutch mumbles between kisses.

Hosea pulls away ever so slightly and looks down at him. He looks like a mess, and Dutch knows he looks ten times worse.

"What is it?"

Dutch smirks up at him, "hurry up, we don't have all day."

Hosea rolls his eyes, but a smile is clear on his face. He leans back down and goes back to kissing Dutch's neck.

"Always were impatient," Hosea mumbles against his skin, his hand moving down, and down, and down, until it's right where Dutch wants it.

Dutch let out a gasp when Hosea's hand starts moving, his head thrown back and his back arching off the bed. Dutch's arms find themselves wrapped around Hosea's neck, holding on to him tightly as Hosea doesn't stop his movements.

Hosea presses a kiss to Dutch's cheek, and says quietly as he does so, "been waiting to do this for years."

Dutch is too wrapped up in the feeling of Hosea's hand wrapped around him like that, that he can't even begin to decipher what he meant by it. All he can focus on is the movement of Hosea's hand, and the rough yet delicate kisses that Hosea is planting on damn near every part of his neck that he could.

Dutch doesn't know whether it's the alcohol or if it's Hosea's hand moving faster and faster with every passing second but Dutch feels lightheaded, his mouth hanging open as he draws in as much air as he could. Hosea is too damn good at this for his own good. Dutch is subconsciously bucking into Hosea's hand, fingers gripping at Hosea's shoulders so tightly that he knows it hurts and it doesn't take long before he's finishing all over Hosea's hand.

Hosea looks down at him with flushed cheeks and lips that are red and kiss bitten, and Dutch can't deny that he looks utterly empyrean. Dutch looks up at him with half-lidded eyes, and who knew he could feel so utterly destroyed after a fucking _handjob_ , and Dutch blames his sudden tiredness on the alcohol.

"I'm gonna clean up."

"You don't want help with that?" Dutch says, pointing at the obvious tent in Hosea's pants.

Hosea looks sheepishly at Dutch and shakes his head, "you look like you're about to pass out, and besides I gotta go clean my hand."

Dutch gives him the strongest laugh he could seeing how hard it was to keep his eyes open, and can't even think of a response before Hosea is leaving the room. Dutch tidies himself up a bit because whilst he is drunk and he is about to fall asleep, he still has standards to uphold.

Dutch remembers that it's Hosea's turn to sleep on the couch, and wonders if maybe he'll join him in bed. He wonders if he should stay awake to find out, but with every second that passes, sleep gets harder and harder to ignore. He hopes that he'll wake up with Hosea by his side, and hopes that his hangover won't kill him in the morning.

Dutch is already asleep by the time that Hosea opens the door once more.


	13. pounding headaches and sad eyes

The first thing that Dutch feels as he wakes up is _pain_.

Hot, burning, unbearable, pain. He opens his eyes only to instantly close them once more when the sun that's shining through the window is so bright that Dutch swears it'll blind him. The movement of it only makes the pure and utter and incessant pain in his head hurt so much more, At first, he wonders exactly what the hell it was that made his head pound so painfully, but everything comes flooding back.

He sits abruptly up when he remembers what he and Hosea did. It only makes his head hurt more but he doesn't care. He feels the bed shift side him and whips his head around to see Hosea stirring awake. A million thoughts race through his mind, and he wants to ask so many things, but he can't find the right words to say or even the right things to think, so instead he sits there, mouth open and closing as he tries to form a coherent sentence. He probably looks like a fool.

In the end, he gives up and turns away from Hosea, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hunching over himself as he places his head in his head.

"Dutch?" Hosea asks blearily.

"Yeah?" Dutch replies, his voice not nearly as strong as he had hoped.

"Do you... remember anything from last night?"

Dutch swallows thickly, "yeah."

"How much?"

Dutch huffs out a laugh, but it's hollow, his fingers tightening on the side of the bed, "all of it. Well, at least most of it. I remember what... what we did."

Dutch hears Hosea take a deep breath behind him, no doubt to say something else, but Dutch beats him to it, "Hosea I think- I think we should forget this ever happened."

Silence.

And then, "I don't understand, you- _you_ kissed me first."

"I- I was drunk, Hosea. Guess you was right when you said I really can't handle my alcohol."

Dutch's joke was a stupid attempt at lightening the mood, but he could tell that all it did was darken it.

Hosea scoffs, his voice hard, in an almost unrecognisable way, "I kissed you and then you pushed me away. Then _you_ kiss _me_ and you _still_ push me away."

Dutch finally turns to look at Hosea and regrets it almost immediately. There's something in Hosea's eyes that he hasn't seen before, and he can't lie when he says that he doesn't like it one little bit.

"Hosea-" Dutch starts but is interrupted by Hosea.

"Is this some sort of joke to you? To mess with me like this, knowing how I feel about you."

"No," Dutch says, his voice louder than he had expected it to be, " _no_ , it's just- I'm..."

Dutch makes the mistake of glancing at Hosea's eyes once more. They're so honest, and genuine, and hurt, that Dutch feels sick at even doing this to him. He loves Hosea, he really, _really_ , does but...

"It's Annabelle."

Dutch doesn't say anything else, knowing that he had elaborated enough. Hosea's eyes flutter down, and everything that's happening is just serving to make Dutch's head hurt just that little bit more if that was even possible. He really shouldn't have drunk that much last night. Dutch turns to put his head in his hands because his headache is getting unbearable, and he just wants to think.

He feels the bed shift once more beside him and hears Hosea mumble something about clearing his head. This time, he doesn't bother to turn and look. Not moving even after he hears the door open and close, leaving him alone once more.

Whilst he was, by no means, one, it doesn't take a genius to know that he fucked up.

Dutch just hopes that he can somehow salvage their relationship once more because he loves Hosea, he really, _really_ , does. And he doesn't know what he'll do if he loses him.


	14. worried questions and panicked thoughts

Dutch thinks that heading into town will help to scatter all the muddled thoughts that have found themselves in his mind.

_ Alcohol will help _ , he thinks, coincidentally forgetting that alcohol is a big reason as to why he got into that mess in the first place.

Who knows, maybe this time it will  _ actually  _ do some good, and  _ hell _ , maybe he could even get a room for the night. It’d probably help him and Hosea by having a little breathing room for some while, especially when they have that much to think about. Hosea and he both just need some time to cool down, and then everything will be okay, Dutch is sure of it.

Usually, the journey into town would take long enough so that Dutch could just stop thinking for a while and just let his mind drift,  _ god  _ knows how much he had needed it sometimes. This time, however, he’s slightly annoyed by the fact that he had had so many things caught on his mind that it was almost impossible to let his mind wander; and by the time that he actually  _ had  _ stopped thinking about all his troubles the town was already coming into view.

It was such a small thing, but it irritated him greatly, and he methodically clenches and unclenches his fist to alleviate some of his annoyance. It doesn’t work as well as he had hoped.

He shakes his head as if it would do something to clear his mind before silently hitching his horse to the hitching post just outside the general store. He wanted to drink, but the thought of going into the saloon made his stomach clench; he hadn’t gone to one ever since the night of Annabelle’s death and doesn’t plan to in the near future. 

Dutch pulls the brim of his hat down low, so it covers his face and so he can avoid eye contact with everyone as he walks into the store. He’s aware that he probably looks suspicious, but he really just can’t find it in himself to care because he doesn't know how he can handle more human contact than the absolute bare necessity when he's like this.

He heads immediately to the shelves that contained alcohol at the back of the store, grateful at how quiet the shop is, taking his time to pick out the best drink for the least amount of money because neither he nor Hosea has a job and cash is not the easiest thing to come around, especially at times like this. 

After a while, he’s narrowed his choices down to two different drinks, one a whiskey and one a gin before he hears it. Dutch guesses that it’s probably impolite of him to eavesdrop on someone else’s conversation, but he can excuse himself just this once; especially seeing as this time it concerns _ him _ .

“We’re looking for Dutch van der Linde? You seen him?”

Dutch doesn’t turn around, stares at the alcohol on the wall fixedly as he hears the sound of paper rustling, he assumes that it’s his bounty poster. Dutch can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, can feel the shaking of his hands, and how air just doesn't seem to enter his lungs. He does his best to conceal this, because they're not bothering to pay him any attention, and for that, he is unbelievably thankful. 

The clerk stays silent for a short while, clearly contemplating his answer and racking his memory to answer the question, and eventually replies with, “ah, he looks kinda familiar, think I've seen him around a couple'a times, but he ain’t been ‘round here in a while.”

The first man makes a grunt of thanks.

“Why, what’s he done?” the clerk asks, _and just why can't people keep their questions to themselves?_

Dutch hears the first man scoff, “killed four people.”

He can’t help how his hands curl into fists by his side, nails digging into his skin so harshly that he swears his palm might be bleeding, and instead crosses his arms so he doesn’t give himself away.

_ “No shit.” _

“Yep, got a  _ pretty _ big bounty on his head, and many people who wanna see the bastard hang.”

Dutch’s heart is racing so fast in his chest that he has to beg it to be quiet lest somehow the fucking  _ bounty hunters _ hear it. He feels eyes on the back of his head, but doesn’t dare turn around, and reaches for the whiskey on the shelf and looks down at it, pretending like he’s interested, trying to ignore just how badly his hands are shaking.

Dutch hears them exchange pleasantries before he hears the clacking of boots against wooden floorboards and the door opening and closing. Even though he’s certain they’re gone, it doesn’t make him feel any bit less nervous.

Although it seems like he’s the only one with a bounty on his head, so Hosea’s going to have to be the one who makes trips into town from now on. Dutch is glad that Hosea doesn’t have a bounty, but at the same time, he doesn’t know just how in the fuck he is going to explain this to him.

“Sir?”

Dutch jumps at the clerk’s question directed towards him, and realises that he’s been standing there for probably far too long.

“Sir, are you alright?”

Dutch doesn’t answer him, and instead places the whiskey back on the shelf and turns to stride towards the door whilst making sure that his head is held low like he did on the way in.  The clerk askes him another question, but he doesn’t bother listening to it, let alone  _ respond _ to it. 

Dutch all but sprints over to his horse, and is spurring him on before he’s even completely on the saddle.

He doesn’t slow for a second, urging his horse to go faster and faster and  _ faster  _ because Hosea needs to know that they aren’t as untouchable as they thought they were. Because if the bounty hunters are already around then  _ surely _ it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with him; if they catch up with him then they’ll kill him and they’ll kill Hosea too because they’re partners in crime, both literally and metaphorically.

Hosea will be killed and he’ll be killed because of Dutch and he doesn’t know how he’d live if that happened.

When he reaches their house, he jumps off his horse so quickly he almost breaks his ankle, but can’t even bring himself to care because he’s running inside the house, calling for Hosea. He's shouting for him so loudly that he swears his vocal cords might _snap_.

Other than him, the house is silent, and Dutch can’t help the string of curses that leave his mouth after he searched every  _ single _ room and still couldn’t find Hosea. Dutch thought that he’d be back by now.

Dutch forces himself to sit down on the couch, partly because he thinks if he paces anymore he might run a hole into the floorboards  _ and _ because his legs are beginning to tremble and he fears that they might buckle out from under him any time soon.

He takes in a deep breath, feels his ribcage expand, and lets it out again. His eyes fall closed as he calms himself down.

Where would Hosea be?

Dutch needs to get to him fast, because what if the bounty hunters find him first? He wills down the wave of panic that threatens to drown him at the thought.

_Think Dutch, think._

Hosea really liked the lake that Dutch took him to that little while ago, didn’t he? Maybe he's there.

He pushes himself up off the couch and heads back out to his horse, who doesn't look entirely too pleased to be going out again, and Dutch makes a mental reminder to buy his horse's favourite treats to make up for it when all this shit is over with.

It’s a long shot, Dutch knows that, but it’s the best option that he has. 

Now, Dutch ain’t a holy man, but he can’t deny that he  _ prayed _ that Hosea was there and that he was alright.


	15. quiet lakes and quiet sighs

Dutch swears that his sigh of relief is audible when he sees Hosea’s horse gently grazing on grass not too far away from the lake. He wills his heart to slow down its rapid beating as he climbs off his own horse, stroking his muzzle and muttering thanks under his breath.

Hosea is sitting not too far from the edge of the lake, knees drawn up to his chest, back facing Dutch.

“Hosea,” Dutch breathes out, his voice not as strong as he had hoped it would be, “I got something impo-”

“Why are you here, Dutch?”

Dutch physically stops in his tracks at Hosea’s words. He doesn’t think he’s  _ ever _ heard him sound like that before.

“I- I don’t- what do you mean?”

“I  _ mean _ why are you  _ here _ ?” Hosea says as he starts to stand, “I thought I made it obvious that-”

“This is important, Hosea, I-”

Hosea turns around and faces him, his eyes cold as he interrupts him yet again, “yes, Dutch, this  _ is  _ important.”

“Hosea-”

“Dutch we need to talk about what happened yesterday.”

“Not now, Hosea, there’s something el-”

“What the fuck do you mean  _ not now _ , is- is this not fucking important to you or something?” Hosea’s voice sounds incredulous now, and Dutch knows how badly he’s fucked up.

“No, _ no _ , it’s not that Hosea, I swear, but-”

“No, Dutch you don’t fucking get it,” the pure venom on Hosea’s tongue as he says those words makes Dutch forget everything he was about to say. 

Dutch opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out are stutters: half-formed words and sentences with no meaning. He is speechless.

“I’m not her, am I?”

Dutch stays silent, trying to rack his mind for just  _ any _ response that will diffuse the situation because Hosea looks so  _ distraught _ that Dutch feels sick at the thought of being the person to make him look like that.

“That’s why you pushed me away, because, you still love her.”

Dutch shakes his head vehemently, because just then, at  _ that _ moment, he thinks about loving Hosea like he did with Annabelle. It doesn’t hurt like it used to. He used to feel guilt at even just the  _ thought _ of loving someone like Annabelle. He used to feel guilty because she was his  _ everything _ and she died because he couldn’t save her.

A part of him died with Annabelle, but Hosea helped him, Hosea took care of him and made him want to live again. If Hosea died because of him as Annabelle did, Dutch doesn’t know if he’ll manage to survive this time.

And that’s when it finally clicks.

He does love Hosea. He really,  _ truly _ , does.

He just… he doesn’t want his relationship with Hosea to end up like it did with Annabelle: Dutch being the only one left alive. 

If Hosea got too close to him, then  _ something _ would go wrong, it inevitably would, and Dutch would be all alone. He’d be alone, except this time he doesn’t have anyone to live for because Annabelle and Hosea were the only two people that he ever loved, and he can’t  _ bear _ the thought of being alone.

Hosea’s scoff, a noise that sounds wrong in all of the places where it should feel right, stuns Dutch out of his reverie, and he’s painfully aware of how silent he’s been, and internally chastises himself for being so  _ fucking _ stupid.

“I don’t think I can look at you right now.”

Those words  _ sting _ and they make his vision blur ever so slightly because Hosea is walking past him now, no doubt going to leave. Dutch doesn’t think, doesn’t even  _ hesitate _ before he’s reaching out for Hosea, his fingers grabbing on to the fabric of his clothing.

Hosea shies away from his grasp, pulling away so that Dutch is left there red-faced and heartbroken, and all that does is just make everything hurt so much  _ worse.  _

The hard expression on Hosea's face falls for a second, and his voice comes out softer than before, “I’m going back to the house. It’s your turn on the couch.”

And with that, he leaves Dutch behind. Dutch doesn’t bother to follow him, to try and talk anymore because he knows when he’s been beaten, knows when all his efforts will just make everything worse.

Knowing what’s happened, what  _ he _ did, makes his heart just  _ ache _ . Never before has the sound of hooves trotting away sounded so goddamn horrible. It felt like Hosea was leaving him, that the man that just walked away was the last semblance of the Hosea that Dutch knew: that Dutch  _ loved _ .

He can’t explain the feeling that washes over him.

He sits down on the bank of the lake, even though it was more due to his legs buckling out underneath him rather than any conscious decision, and he waits.

Dutch thinks that if it had been any other time, he would have  _ killed _ for this view, just the serenity of the place, it was like a dream. It should have calmed him, should have reduced the thoughts racing through his head so that he could just forget about everything and just relax.

That’s what should have happened. 

_ It didn’t. _

But it should have.

He gets up after a while, whether it had been five minutes or five hours, Dutch didn’t really know. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to his and Hosea’s next conversation, especially considering how their last one went. But he supposes that he might as well get it over with, might as well  _ try _ and talk because otherwise, this…  _ thing _ will just fester up inside both of them until it reaches its blowing point and that little argument, that little  _ spat _ , Dutch knows that it will be  _ nothing _ compared to what will happen if they don’t figure their shit out.

He walks back over to his horse, strokes his mane, and sighs quietly to himself.

“Boy,” he says to his horse, “I don’t know how in the fuck me and Hosea are gonna sort this shit out.”

His horse snorts as a response, and Dutch doesn’t know whether or not it was meant to be comforting.

“Yeah, you’re right-” Dutch pauses as he clambers back up onto his saddle, “neither of us ain’t been good at talking, and I mean  _ talking  _ talking, ever since we was boys.”

He lets out another sigh, letting his chin rest on his chest as he starts heading back home.

“Just… never thought it’d be the downfall of us.”


	16. watery eyes and hopeful smiles

Dutch is careful to take his time on the ride back to their house. Even when it starts to get dark, and the beasts that lurk there go out to hunt, Dutch doesn’t hurry, because, with every howl and bark and snarl that he hears somewhere in the trees, he knows that he’s safe.

He’s safe because if something wanted to kill him, then he wouldn’t hear it coming.

The lights in their home aren’t on, and Dutch just assumes that Hosea has gone to sleep, though he’s not _entirely_ sure because whenever Hosea had something on his mind then he never could sleep that well, Dutch knew because he was similar, in a way.

The house is silent when he walks in and heads straight to the bedroom thinking that now they’ve finally had some time to clear their heads it might be best to talk about everything because some-fucking-how he _still_ hasn’t managed to tell Hosea about the bounty hunters, and obviously, they need to talk about… _them._

Dutch tries not to pull a face at even the thought of it. He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s going to do this, but he has to at least try.

He doesn’t bother trying to open the door, Hosea had no doubted locked it, and besides, he always found that it was easier to talk to people heart to heart when you don’t have to see the expression on their faces. Sure, it made it a hell of a lot harder to tell what they were thinking, but somehow keeping eye contact whilst he was talking about personal shit? Dutch would prefer that doesn’t happen.

He decides that he might as well do it now, because if he stands around any longer then he’ll let his nerves get the better of him and he'll end up not saying a thing, and this is important, so he knocks lightly on the door with his knuckle.

“ ‘sea, you in there?”

Dutch can’t help but frown when he’s met with silence, even though he doesn’t know what he was expecting.

“I realised, on the way back to the house that I, uh, I didn’t actually tell you the _reason_ as to why I came to you in the first place.”

Silence again, and at this point, Dutch just assumes that if he says the right things then Hosea will have to answer him eventually.

“I- I was in town and, uh, I was looking to buy some whiskey or gin, you know how I am with alcohol, right?” Dutch lets out a small laugh, the noise is awkward, and now he’s even more glad that he’s not face-to-face with Hosea because that shit was embarrassing.

He clears his throat, “anyways, as I was… _debating_ which one to get I, uh-” he takes a second to pause, to think of the best way to phrase exactly what happened, and decides to just be frank with him, “-I overheard a man who I presume was a bounty hunter asking ‘bout me. Figures it's best I don't go into town for a while; just in case.”

Still nothing. Dutch can’t help the sigh he let out, he was _sure_ that Hosea would have responded to that, hell, the old bastard would always nag his ears off about staying out of trouble in case there are bounty hunters or police folk and the like.

Maybe he’s asleep.

 _Or maybe he’s just so annoyed with you that even_ this _won’t get him to talk to you again._

Dutch frowns at the thought.

“Hosea I-” 

The sentence dies on his tongue because he doesn’t truly know what to say. He lets his head fall down so that his forehead rests on the wood of the door.

He swallows thickly, “I _do_ love you, Hosea. I hope you know that. I love you as much as I loved Annabelle, fuck, maybe even _more_ , it’s just…”

Dutch trails off, a lump forming in his throat, and a wetness building in his eyes. He thinks that whilst he’s started he might as well go the whole fucking mile.

“I’m _scared_ , Hosea. S-scared of losing you like I did with her. And- and I suppose the reason why I kept pushing you away is ‘cause, I just… I don’t know what I’d do if you died because I couldn’t save you. 

_"It’d kill me, Hosea._ ”

He brings a hand up to quickly wipe away the stray tear that fell down his cheek because even though Hosea can’t see him like this, even when he’s seen Dutch cry before, he doesn’t particularly think he looks good whenever he has tears streaming down his face and has _some_ ounce of pride left to uphold.

He lets out another quiet sigh when Hosea still doesn’t respond to him. If he were to be honest with himself, either Hosea _really_ didn’t want to talk to him, or maybe, just maybe, Dutch didn’t know him as well as he thought he did. He expells the second thought with a shake of his head, Hosea's just probably tired, Dutch is just overthinking as usual.

“We can talk about this again tomorrow, yeah?” Dutch says, and at this point, he might as well be talking to thin air, but still, he tries.

“We- we can talk and then we’ll get all this shit sorted out, _together_ . We’ll find a way to avoid the bounty hunters, and we can, god I don’t know, try this… _relationship_ thing out, because Hosea you mean everything to me.”

Silence.

“I love you.”

Silence again.

Dutch just smiles sadly at the door, this time not bothering to wipe away the tears. Sure, Hosea isn’t answering, but he needed to hear this, and, _hell_ , Dutch needed to _say_ it.

He can’t lie, even though the response he got was… _far_ from what he had wanted and expected, his heart feels lighter now; lighter in a good way.

He has hope.

Maybe even an abundance of it.

He pulls away from the door, everything that he needed to say had been said, and now he has to wait because he’s _sure_ that all they need is time, and then everything will finally work out for them.

Despite his red-rimmed eyes, he settles down on the couch with a smile on his face.

Because, for what felt like the first time in forever, Dutch _knows_ that everything will be okay for them.

It has to be, because otherwise, Dutch doesn't know how he'll last.


	17. empty beds and trotting hooves

Dutch didn’t sleep that night. Too many things going through his head. He _knows_ that he’s just overthinking, that Hosea almost definitely heard him and that when the sun is up and Hosea wakes then they’ll talk, and everything will be okay again.

He finds that when the sun has risen, he just can’t for the life of him stay still, not when he has so much on his mind. He pushes off the sorry excuse for a blanket, not caring when it falls to the floor in a clump, and stands up. His knees ache with the sudden movement but stop groaning when he stretches.

Now, Dutch would have preferred to give Hosea some more time to think about everything he had said the previous night, but the apprehensiveness that claws at his stomach makes it so that he doesn’t think he could bear to wait any longer to find out Hosea’s response, whether it be rejection or acceptance.

He’ll make some coffee first, though, just in case Hosea was still groggy from sleep because even though he wakes up before Dutch, this is early even for _him._

Dutch can’t help but pace as he waits for the water to boil, every second that passes makes the worry and uncertainty fester in him. He’s sure that everything will be okay, he knows that, but he can’t help the sudden wave of doubt that threatens to drown him.

He shakes his head vigorously as if to shake the thoughts from his mind. It doesn’t work but instead, he turns his attention to the now boiled water and focuses on making Hosea’s coffee.

He makes it exactly how Hosea likes it, and heads straight to the room where Hosea was in.

For the tiniest split second, Dutch _really_ wishes that he had taken more time because standing in front of the door, with a piece of fucking wood being the only thing to separate him from Hosea, the nervousness is so overpowering that he has to quench down the wave of nausea that his anxiety brings him.

 _It’ll all be okay, Dutch,_ he thinks to himself. He repeats it over and over again in his head, like a mantra, like a _prayer_.

He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth and knocks on the door with Hosea’s name on his lips.

“You in there?”

Dutch really can’t dispel the frown that forms on his face when, _yet again_ , he’s met with silence.

“I have coffee.”

Dutch bites his lip, thinking the best way to approach this because clearly, Hosea doesn’t want to talk to him, which means that he must have fucked up badly.

“Look, Hosea, can you open the door?”

He waits a few seconds before adding, “ _please?_ ”

His breathing is the only sound that he hears. He reaches down to try and open the door. He doesn’t know why he tried it: he was certain that Hosea had locked it, so that’s why when the door clicked open, he lets out a loud curse.

He pushes the door completely open, annoyance and relief coming together to form a sentence that dies on his tongue when he sees that the room is completely empty. Dutch walks in, peers cautiously around, and places the coffee down as he tries to wrap his head around just what the fuck is happening.

He doesn’t know whether to be angry or worried and finds that he’s somehow a mix of both.

“You mean to tell me that I confessed my love to fucking _thin air_?” Dutch says to no-one in particular.

Just in case this was some trick and Hosea was just hiding from him, no matter how implausible it is - because at this point Dutch is just telling himself things to make himself feel better - he starts searching the room. Hell, he even checks under the bed for fucks sake, and when he’s searched fucking everything that there _is_ to be searched, what does he do?

He expands his search to the whole house because _he has got to be somewhere._

Dutch gets that perhaps Hosea just needed some time away, he understands that, but this is _Hosea_ : he would never leave without telling him first. It was one of the first rules they established, just before what the fuck they were going to do about the bed situation. 

The rule was that, especially seeing as now Dutch, and probably Hosea too but they were less sure about that, is _a wanted criminal_ , if either of them were going to leave the house for any reason whatsoever then they would tell the other, in case either of them were to get caught. Occasionally they would leave notes detailing this, but more times than not it would be verbal, and the _very last thing_ that Hosea said to him was, “I’m going back to the house.”

Clearly, something happened, because Dutch is at the house and Hosea is nowhere to be seen, and even _with_ this newfound rift between them Dutch doesn’t doubt for a second that Hosea would never jeopardise their safety because of what’s come between them.

Not unless he had good reason to.

The thought makes a sudden tsunami of consternation overwhelm him, and he forces himself to sit down and _think_.

There was no way in absolute hell that he had somehow gotten up during the night, Dutch knows that because he was awake for all of it, and Dutch isn’t as deaf as one might think, and it had been unusually quiet that evening. For a second he thinks that maybe Hosea had climbed out the window, but gets rid of the thought immediately will an ill-timed laugh, because now he really must be delusional.

Putting together all that he knew, there was no way in hell that Hosea came back last night, something which, now in hindsight, Dutch really should have noticed before and-

Dutch can’t help his groan, he really is the biggest fucking idiot in the world.

He knew deep down that there must have been a reason for just how quiet it had been last night. He pushes himself up off the couch, and heads to the window, looking out where at the hitching post just outside their door, and there it was.

Dutch’s horse was the only one out there.

That’s why it was so fucking quiet: because normally those two horses together would make a racket, Dutch had joked one time that the two of them were like him and Hosea in a way, silent, morose on their own, but unbelievably loud when put together.

Dutch wonders if his own horse missed Hosea’s horse as much as he _himself_ misses Hosea.

He brings a hand up to his face, and scratches at the stubble beginning to grow there, with everything that had been going on, he hadn’t thought to shave.

Fuck, Hosea really is gone.

He tries to quench down on the disquietude that the thought brings him, because, sure, Hosea isn’t right there at that moment but Hosea wouldn’t leave _for good_ would he?

Of course not.

Hosea probably just changed his mind about going back to the house thing and instead just stayed at a hotel for the night.

 _That_ must _be it._

It has to be.

Dutch takes a deep breath, and it’s the only thing he hears in the otherwise silent household.

Everything will be okay. Hosea will come back to him eventually, Dutch knows it.

He strains his ears as he hears the sound of trotting hooves in the distance, too close to be someone accidentally wandering around, no, if he were to hear hooves then it would have to be from someone who _knew_ where they were going, and Dutch can’t help the relieved smile that forms on his face.

In fact, that’s probably him _right now_.

Except, that’s not just one set of trotting hooves that he hears, it’s multiple.

The smile falls from his face.

Why would Hosea bring someone else back with him?


	18. burning houses and dead bodies

The question had only just popped into his head when he actually  _ saw _ them. 

There were men, none, might he add, were Hosea, and Dutch was instantly on edge. They wore guns, probably rifles or shotguns, Dutch couldn’t really tell, on their backs, and the expression on their faces made something unexplainable twist in his gut.

He had to hide, or escape, or just…  _ anything _ because Dutch has a feeling that these men aren’t here to just talk.

He never thought he’d think this but he can’t help but pray that Hosea doesn’t come back: Dutch doesn’t know what he’d do if Hosea got caught up in all this.

His mind is racking up ideas faster than he could comprehend them; he could run out the back - he couldn’t go out the front to his horse because they’d see him - but that means he’d have to go on foot, or somehow manage to sneak around and grab a horse before making a break for it, but Dutch doesn’t like his chances.

Or he could hide in the house, but Dutch doesn’t know  _ why _ they’re there, sure, he assumes that they’re bounty hunters or something of the like, but how far are they willing to go? Would they go  _ into _ his house in an attempt to look for him? Would they just stay outside and look in through the windows? If they did and assumed that no-one was there, would they wait until one of them came back?

Dutch doesn’t know but his panicking isn’t fucking helping, so despite the fact that they’re closer than before, Dutch forces himself to remain calm, and just  _ think _ .

It takes him a few seconds, but eventually, he knows what to do.

Dutch’s horse is still outside, probably no doubt getting slightly nervous himself at the sudden friends, but still there nonetheless. Dutch could try and make a break for it to his horse, but if he did so then they would see, and a three on one scenario doesn’t look pleasant for his future.

He thinks it through. If he hides somewhere in the house well enough, when they eventually search the house, which they will, Dutch  _ knows _ , then their guard will be down, and perhaps he could sneak around and grab a horse and run for the fucking hills while they’re caught with their pants down.

He fucking hopes this works.

As he slides himself under their bed, ignoring all the dust that had accumulated there over however fucking long it had been there, he grimaces because well… it’s certainly not the  _ best _ spot to hide in, but it’s the easiest one to reach and is the only one close enough to the door at the back for him to reach quietly with as little movement as possible, which is what he needs because their house is  _ old _ , and certain floorboards squeak and groan when trodden on.

The high-pitched squeal of a rotten floorboard just proves his point as he sees a pair of shoes enter the room he’s hiding in. 

They walk around the room lazily, nonchalant even, and Dutch doesn’t know why but all it does it make the anxiety swirling in his gut even worse.

“Coffee’s here,” the man in the room, whose voice sounds suspiciously like the man in the store, which only confirms Dutch’s theory that these men are bounty hunters, “still warm, can’t have left too long ago.”

A voice in a different part of the house replies, “Clay, his horse is still out there, you stupid or something? He hasn’t left.”

The man, Clay, just snorts in response, clearly not bothered by the jab, “maybe he’s on foot, y’know, huntin’ or some shit.”

_ “Or hiding.” _

Dutch feels his blood run cold as the pair of shoes in the room turn and point to where he is. Clay starts walking towards him, and Dutch gets ready to attack, certain he’s been caught.

But all Clay does is flop down on top of the bed, and Dutch has to suppress a groan as the weight of the man causes the bed to dip down considerably, leaving Dutch with less room than before.

Clay just scoffs, “Billy, this son of a bitch left four people dead behind a saloon,  _ in plain sight _ , you really think he’s good at hidin’ shit?”

Billy laughs from in the other room, and Dutch can hear cluttering from what he assumes is Billy’s search, “ah, I guess you’re right.”

Another pair of shoes stop at the doorway, and a new voice says, “Clay what the fuck are you doin’? Get your lazy ass up we gotta catch this bastard.”

Clay just huffs, “Look at this house, Reese. Van der Linde  _ lives _ here, he’ll be back soon enough from wherever the little rat scuttered off to and then when he gets here an’ sees what we’ve done, he’ll have nowhere to go and we hand him in,  _ simple _ . Ain’t no rush.”

Reese doesn’t seem too amused, “he’s made it this far without being caught, Clay, don’t underestimate the fucker, it’ll be the death of you.”

Clay just laughs, and it makes Dutch’s blood run cold, “oh if he puts up a fight then it’ll be even more fun.”

Reese just makes a noise that’s a mix between a huff and a grunt, and turns around and walks away, and a few seconds pass before Clay is getting off the bed and following him.

Dutch waits for a few seconds, straining his ears to make sure that they’re far enough away so that he can slip out unnoticed. Once he’s certain that he’s not going to be caught, he shuffles out from underneath the bed, and hurries over to the door, peeking a head out and looking around to see if they’re nearby.

One of them is in the kitchen, Dutch can hear them, and it’s too close for Dutch to be comfortable with, but it’s the best he’s going to get and decides that he better go now if he wants any chance at getting out alive.

It seems that apparently, the world has decided to give him a break for once in his miserable life because he makes it to the back door without as much as the tiniest little noise.

He closes the door behind him and moves around to the side of the house; he can just about see the corner of the post where he and Hosea hitch their horses, and for a second he either bravely or foolishly has some hope, but unfortunately, there’s a problem there too. A problem in the form of a bounty hunter.

The man is facing away from him, so that’s a small mercy, but Dutch is still going to have to deal with him if he wants to make it back to his horse in one piece.

He’s careful as he sneaks along the side of the house, crouching down low so that he can’t be seen through windows, and thankfully makes it somewhat near to the hunter without being spotted.

He takes a quick glance around, making sure that there was no-one else around to see what he was going to do, and when Dutch is sure that the coast is clear, he surges forward, the noise causing the man to turn around but he barely gets a chance before Dutch’s fist is connecting with his nose.

The man falls to the ground, but Dutch catches him before he hits the floor, and drags him back around the side of the house, hiding him from all the others. He quickly shakes the pain in his hand away, because that man had a _really_ hard face, Jesus Christ.

He looks around once more, and when he sees no-one, he is seconds away from just making a break for it and hoping for the best, but he stops in his tracks when the front door opens, and an annoyed voice is heard along with two footsteps.

“Where the fuck is Clay? I  _ told _ him not to go wanderin’ around in case that bastard’s walkin’ around here.”

“Reese calm down, he’s probably taking a piss or somethin’.”

Reese lets out a grunt, seemingly both content and not with his answer.

“You better be right, Billy, because if he fucks around anymore then he’s getting less in his cut.”

Billy just laughs, “you’re free to tell him that when he gets back.”

Reese can’t help but let out a small huff of laughter that that, softening slightly before he hardens again.

“You ready?”

Billy nods, “Clay isn’t in the house, that’s for sure, so yeah, lets light the fucker up.”

Dutch only has a few seconds to just comprehend what  _ “light the fucker up”  _ actually means, but he  _ really _ didn’t think it was meant so literally.

He hears glasses smash and a consequent  _ woosh _ of flames, those little fucking  _ bastards _ lit his house  _ on fucking fire _ . He can hear the flames crackling inside, burning everything he had to fucking ashes, and the fury the wells up inside him is unprecedented.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been that angry, not even when  _ Annabelle  _ died, and the realisation scares him because the anger and  _ hurt _ that Annabelle’s death brought him was the reason why they were in this fucking mess.

He takes his gun out of his holster; his hands shake.

Dutch wonders if this is a bad idea, he  _ knows _ it is, but it doesn’t stop him from stepping out into the bounty hunters’ view and letting out a poorly-placed shot.

He really needs to think things through sometimes, because if he was going to be stupid, which at this point it’s more of a  _ when _ than an  _ if _ , he at  _ least  _ needs to kill one of the bastards.

He lets out a curse under his breath and aims again, but they had both run to the trees for cover.

_ Fuck _ , okay he needs to breathe and to  _ think _ . He’s made it this far. He looks down at his revolver, checks the chamber. Five bullets left, all his other ammo are-  _ were _ in the house. God, he’s so fucking  _ fucked _ .

He goes to take a peek around the cover, to get a sense of where they are but jumps back when a bullet comes whizzing too close to him, embedding itself in the wood barely a couple of centimetres from where his head just was.

Yep, he’s definitely fucked.

Just by chance, he spares another look at the bounty hunter he knocked out and doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight: a rifle on his back.

He both extremely glad and also feels extremely stupid because  _ how could he have missed that? _

He searches the man’s body and finds some more ammo, not exactly enough for him to be completely pleased with but it’s better than what he had. Now all he has to do is just, find a way to kill them without being killed first.

He pokes a hand out into the view of the hunters, drawing it back quickly when a shot goes off. So, they’re still aiming at him, right? What if he sneaks around the other side of the house, and gets the jump on them, because the fire is still spreading inside, and it’s only a matter of time before the flames swallow the whole house, taking away Dutch’s cover with it.

He guesses that it’s now or never.

He follows the walls around until he’s at the back of the house, and peers around the corner and can’t help his smile when he spots them both aiming at the spot he was just in.

This time, he’s careful when he aims, not rushing, and making sure that everything’s perfect before he takes his shot. The first guy takes a bullet to the head, collapsing down on the ground, but when Dutch didn’t account for was just how fucking  _ quick _ the other one was at adjusting his aim because he barely has enough time to be content with his kill before the other one is turning, aiming, and  _ shooting  _ him.

The bullet tears through his shoulder, making him jerk back and causing the rifle to fly out of his grip, too far away to reach. The pain is almost too much, and he can’t think, his body refusing to work with him as a trembling hand flies down to his holster, fingers fumbling in an attempt to grab his gun and shoot the  _ bastard _ .

By the time he actually gets a hold of his gun and goes to aim at the fucker, a boot is connecting to the side of his hand, knocking his revolver from his hand.

_ He’s  _ really _ fucking fucked now. _

The anger on the man’s face is palpable, and whilst Dutch  _ is _ scared, he’s glad that at least it isn’t Hosea in this situation. He glances quickly at the house, it’s nearly all flames now, and it makes his stomach churn with nausea.

The man reaches down to grab his collar, their faces inches from each other as the man seethes, “ _ you killed my partner _ .”

Dutch spits in his face, “your  _ partner _ set my house on fire.”

The man only responds with a punch to Dutch’s face, the pure power of it making his head spin as his head snaps to the side. He manages to get a glimpse of his revolver, it’s not too far, before the man roughly grabs his chin and forces Dutch to look at him eye to eye.

“I can’t wait to see you  _ hang. _ ”

Dutch laughs, the taste of blood filling his mouth, and the man falters slightly. Dutch grasps the opportunity because the man’s guard is down, and well if he was going to die here he’d at least want to go out fighting.

Dutch kicks him in the knee, causing it to buckle at an awkward angle, and he delivers another kick straight to the bastard’s head. When he falls to the ground, Dutch goes for the gun, can feel the man’s hands on his ankle, trying to pull him back, but it’s not enough because he manages to grab it, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder.

He whips around and doesn’t even aim before his finger is on the trigger. The man falls to the ground, a hole where his head just was. Now that Dutch is  _ finally _ alone, the sudden realisation of what just happened is running through his head.

He drops his revolver on the ground next to him, finding that his hands are shaking too much for him to hold it. He puts his head in his hands, taking a deep breath, and trying to think what to do next. The flames from his house warm him from the position he’s sat in, and god he really has  _ nothing _ .

Hosea is gone, his house is gone… Annabelle is gone, Bessie too.

Everything is just fucking  _ gone. _

He doesn’t know why, but he pushes himself to his feet. His legs are trembling but he forces himself to stand tall.

He hears the snap of a twig behind him as well as hurried footsteps and he only just turns around as he sees the man he knocked out there, blood dripping from his nose, and eyes wild.

He barrels into him, and they both fall down. The man - Clay - is positioned on top of him, wrapping his dirtied hands around Dutch’s throat as he screams at him, eyes wet, “you  _ fucking _ killed them!”

Dutch thinks for the briefest of seconds that if he wasn’t currently being strangled, the pure hatred on Clay’s face would have killed him anyway. Dutch’s fingers curl around Clay’s, trying his hardest to pry them off his neck, so that he can get even the tiniest amount of air to just  _ breathe _ .

It doesn’t work, and black dots are beginning to swim in his vision and he feels so lightheaded that he thinks his head might just fucking  _ explode _ .

He fumbles around blindly on the ground next to him, hoping,  _ praying _ , that there’s just  _ something _ there to help him, because he wants to fight and he doesn’t know why.

He has nothing, so surely he should just let this man kill him, right? It would be easier.

Dutch knows that, but he fights anyway. 

He wonders if life is finally cutting him some slack, because he manages to grasp the barrel of his revolver, and using his dwindling strength, he smashes the grip of his gun into the side of Clay’s face.

The man falls down, and Dutch almost cries at the relief he feels from just being able to  _ breathe again. _ Even with his head pounding and spinning, Dutch doesn’t waste any time, and climbs on top of Clay, essentially swapping their positions from before.

Dutch’s hands are wrapped around the barrel and chamber of the gun, the grip facing down and he doesn’t even hesitate before he’s slamming the grip down on Clay’s face. He does it over and over and over and over again until the man’s face is a bloodied mess, and he’s no longer breathing.

There’s blood on Dutch’s hands and blood on his face and blood on his clothes and his shoulder is  _ burning _ with pain, and it’s all too much.

Dutch collapses to the ground, shuffling away from the bodies, as he tries to calm his breathing.

Above his panicked wheezes, all Dutch can hear is the crackling of his house as it burns and it crumbles and it falls, taking every semblance of normality with it. Dutch can tell that everything won’t be the same again.

He can’t help it when he doubles over and throws up. All it does is make the pain in his throat burn even more; there are tears streaming down his face and Dutch thinks that everything must be  _ truly _ fucked if, at that moment, he is genuinely  _ glad  _ that Hosea wasn’t there.

He doesn’t know how he’d bear it if Hosea had to see him like this again.


End file.
